


Out of the Rain

by ominousunflower



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Angst, Depression, Eating Disorder, Emotional self-harm, Grieving, Hurt/Comfort, Isolation, Loss, M/M, Major Character Death is Ladybug, Panic Attacks, Recovery, Some Season 3 spoilers, Thoughts About Dying, mentions of vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2020-10-29 11:09:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 44,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20795687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ominousunflower/pseuds/ominousunflower
Summary: After Ladybug is killed in battle against Papillon, Adrien is forced to give up being Chat Noir. The road to recovery seems long and impossible—and it’s made even harder when he finds himself saddled with a responsibility he's not sure he can handle.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just to clarify: the only character death is Marinette/Ladybug, and her death is not depicted in this fic. The fic deals solely with the aftermath, so there aren’t any upsetting depictions of violence or death. No one else dies in this fic, and I promise you a…mostly happy ending. Marinette doesn't come back to life, so it’s bittersweet at best.
> 
> This fic is much heavier than my usual stuff, so please check the tags to see if this fic is something you want to read. If any of the topics I’ve tagged are sensitive for you, you might not want to read this fic. Please stay safe :) I’ll try to put specific warnings before each chapter, but if you want more details, feel free to ask me for specifics on [Tumblr](http://ominousunflower.tumblr.com).
> 
> **IMPORTANT NOTE:** Killing off female love interests so that two male characters can get together is a problematic trope in m/m fanfiction. For an explanation of how that is not my intention with this fic, please see [this post](https://ominousunflower.tumblr.com/post/189314453965/important-note-about-out-of-the-rain).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter warnings:** Thoughts about dying, eating disorder, emotional self-harm, mentions of vomiting

Adrien doesn’t remember the funeral. He’s sure there are videos online, if he could bring himself to look them up. Almost all of Paris had attended Ladybug and Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s memorial—thousands of people lined the streets, crowded together on balconies, stood shoulder to shoulder to witness the ceremony. A parade of music and speeches. A tribute to one ordinary girl that half the city had overlooked.

It was probably a beautiful event. But Adrien doesn’t remember.

He knows that he made a short speech as Adrien early on, along with Nino and Alya. He also knows that he slipped away to transform into Chat Noir to make a second speech. And he knows that he cried between those two events, struggling to compose himself before he faced the entire city of Paris. But those are facts, not memories. While he knows those things happened, he doesn’t really remember them.

There’s only one thing Adrien actually remembers, just one moment he can recall in full color:

He’s Chat Noir, standing in front of an endless crowd of people. Thousands of eyes are trained on his every movement. His voice shakes slightly as he tells them that yes, Ladybug is gone, and no, nothing can bring her back. And as his friends and classmates in the front row stare at him, he struggles to meet their eyes; the guilt is too thick in his throat, the feeling of failure too sharp in his stomach.

Everyone’s face is the same: solemn, flat, tearful. Each choked sob that rises from the crowd is a reminder that Chat couldn’t save her. Each blank stare makes him stutter a bit more, his words stalled on his tongue as he worries that Paris holds him responsible for their loss.

There’s only one face that is different. Luka Couffaine stands in the front row, right next to Nino, and he doesn’t stare at Chat like everyone else does. When Chat falters and freezes, losing his train of thought, Luka meets his eyes and offers him a smile. He smiles, and somehow, that’s enough for Chat to finish the speech.

Adrien doesn’t remember the funeral. He doesn’t remember what words he was saying. But he remembers Luka’s eyes, bright through the tears, and how the curve of his smile urged him to keep going.

* * *

For three days, Adrien is allowed to keep Plagg and Tikki to grieve. The first day, after the funeral, he locks himself in his room and curls up in bed, holding them close to his chest and sobbing until it feels like his last drop of life has been wrung from him.

The next day, Tikki tells him that it’s not the first time this has happened, that he shouldn’t blame himself. He wants to take comfort in her words, but it feels like she’s throwing bandages at a machine gun. Despite her best efforts, Adrien is ripped to shreds by guilt and regret.

Plagg is more realistic. He tells Tikki to let Adrien grieve; his misery will run its course, and then he’ll be back on his feet. Adrien doesn’t believe him, not a bit—but at least Plagg leaves him alone.

Although the kwamis are the only ones Adrien can really talk to about what happened, he can’t bring himself to say a word. Instead, he spends the days staring at the ceiling and trying to replay that final battle in his head. Like the funeral, though, he doesn’t have any memories. Just facts.

Apparently he fought desperately, viciously, leaving Papillon and Mayura with wounds so severe that they won’t resurface any time soon. Adrenaline and grief must have fogged Adrien’s mind, though, because he doesn’t remember that at all. What happened? How did he manage to fight them off? Adrien’s sure Alya has the answers to those questions, but the thought of asking her makes his stomach turn.

The only part he does remember is the worst part: losing Marinette. But the pain of that memory is so raw, so immense, that he doesn’t dare revisit it.

On the last day, Chat Noir visits Alya to explain that he’s retiring, and that a new Ladybug and Chat Noir will appear if the city needs them.

“Is Papillon gone?” Alya asks. Her voice lacks its usual fire—but of course it does. Her flame, Paris’s flame, is gone. “Do you think he’ll come back?”

“I don’t know,” Chat says.

Alya nods. “I figured. Do…do you want to give a last interview? Or leave a message for Paris before you retire? I’ll pass it on, if you want.”

Chat’s entire body feels like it’s slowly crumbling to dust—as if with each breath, some miniscule part of him disintegrates. It’s hard to describe. All he knows is that he feels tired and withered. He can barely look Alya in the eyes when he shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “I don’t know what I would say.”

After that, he leaves to give Maître Fu the Miraculouses. He doesn’t cry, even when the realization hits him that this is another goodbye_. _No more Plagg. No more Chat Noir. This chapter of his life has been slammed shut, and now he’ll be left useless and alone.

The thought hardly stings. It occurs to Adrien that this must be what people mean when they say they feel numb.

“I am sorry, Adrien,” Fu says, as he takes the ring and earrings from Adrien. “But I must take them back for your safety.”

“I understand,” Adrien says.

“I selected you and Marinette because you were two halves of a whole. Yin and yang,” Fu says. “But without your partner, you are no longer yang.”

“I know,” Adrien says, gritting his teeth. “I get it. I can’t be Chat Noir anymore.”

“No. You cannot.” Fu turns his back to Adrien, carrying the two Miraculouses back to his box. “It will take me some time, but I will select two new wielders. The city will be safe if Papillon returns.”

“Good,” Adrien says. His voice trembles slightly. “That’s good.”

Later that night, when he looks at his hand and sees a pale band of skin where his ring used to be—that’s when he finally lets himself cry.

* * *

It’s almost good, in a strange and twisted way, that Marinette was Ladybug. Because that way, Adrien doesn’t have to explain the intensity of his grief—no one questions why he’s all but lost his will to live when one of his best friends is dead.

And oh, he wouldn’t mind dying. He wouldn’t. Because he’s not sure he can keep waking up every morning to the knowledge that she’s gone, not sure how to live in a world where she’s no longer part of it. He doesn’t want to go to her parents’ bakery and know she’s not upstairs, or go to class and know she’s not sitting behind him.

So he doesn’t go back to school. He’s not sure about the logistics of it—whether he’s allowed to stay home, or whether his father pulled some strings—but he doesn’t. Instead, he wakes up and wanders around his room, rereading text conversations, looking through old pictures, watching videos on the Ladyblog. Sometimes he runs over the final battle and wonders what he could have done differently. Other times, he sits down and tries to piece together everything he knows about Papillon’s identity, intent on destroying the man who killed his partner.

Mostly, though, he just sleeps, drifting in and out of consciousness and praying that when he wakes up, someone will have found a way to reverse death.

He’s considered begging Alix to do something, but he knows that’s not possible. If the Ladybug and Cat Miraculouses aren’t supposed to be used to bring people back to life, then neither is the Rabbit. As much as he wants Marinette back, Adrien knows it’s useless to cling to false hope. Even if it _was_ somehow possible, she’d never forgive him if he meddled with the fabric of time to bring her back.

It’s hard, though, when he dreams that she’s still alive; waking up hurts that much more when he does. In his dreams, life continues normally: he and Ladybug fight akumas, he and Marinette talk in class, and the girl he loves is still alive and well. In comparison, reality feels wrong. He wishes he could choose which universe to live in.

But the dreams, the dreams where everything feels so real that he doesn’t realize it’s all in his head—those are nice. 

* * *

Days pass, and he’s still trying to wrap his head around the fact that everything that was _the latest _is now _the last. _The most recent time that he and Ladybug had ice cream with Monsieur Pigeon, when Chat had jokingly pointed out that the spoons in Ladybug’s ice cream looked like cat ears: the last. The celebratory _bien joué _after defeating that plant akuma two weeks ago: the last. Chaton, buginette, any nickname or pun or word of love: the last, the last, the _last._

And that’s just with Ladybug. Whenever Adrien’s almost exhausted his thoughts of her—almost, because really, it’s impossible—they go to Marinette instead, and the grief is fresh and brand new again. She’ll never be the famous fashion designer they all knew she was going to be, and Adrien will never get to model her designs or support her at her shows. They had just finally gotten to the point that Marinette could talk to him without stumbling over her words, but the possibility of late-night phone calls or hours-long conversations about nothing is gone as quickly as it arrived.

He’ll never see those bright eyes again, that soft smile, never hear the bell-like giggle that burst from her lips when she was nervous. And he probably won’t even be able to look at a macaron again without feeling like his stomach’s been ripped out.

Food, in general, is hard. Logically, Adrien knows that he needs to eat, but everything he eats makes him sick. He feels full after a few bites of fruit. His stomach gnaws at itself, roiling at half a glass of water, and he gives up trying to drink more than a few sips every hour or so. Eventually, he orders the chef to stop sending him food, and his father—absent as ever—makes no attempts at forcing Adrien to eat.

The only difference is that now, Gabriel Agreste doesn’t object to his grieving son having visitors. Sometimes, when Nino visits, he brings Adrien takeout; and because Adrien at least has the energy to dump it down the garbage disposal after Nino leaves, his friend assumes that he’s eating it. If Plagg was there, he might eat some—but Adrien’s alone, and so he feeds the sink instead.

Sabine and Tom send the occasional bag of pastries with Alya, as thanks for being a good friend to Marinette. Adrien feels like sobbing half the time he sees them, unable to do more than nibble on the sweets and wish that Marinette had been the one to deliver them. He’s not a good friend. A good friend wouldn’t have let her _die. _He can’t tell Alya that, though, so he thanks her each time, takes the pastries to his room, and leaves them in the bags to go stale. Unlike Nino’s takeout, he can’t bring himself to throw away gifts from Marinette’s parents.

* * *

The first time Luka visits—after Nino and Alya have been coming by for about a week—Adrien’s not sure why he’s there. They’d had a mutual friend in Marinette, but aside from playing guitar and piano together a few times, the two weren’t really close friends.

Ever the gracious host, though, Adrien doesn’t ask Luka why he’s there—just hovers in the doorway, hoping to block Luka’s view of his bedroom as much as possible. “Hi,” he croaks.

“Hi,” Luka says, his voice soft. “Can I come in?”

Adrien swallows. No_, _the correct answer is _no. _His room is a reflection of his mental state right now, which is why he hasn’t even let Nino or Alya see it; he’s been meeting them downstairs, although each time it’s harder and harder to drag himself out of his room to see them. He has no doubt that if he tells Luka _yes,_ Luka will take one look at his room and realize that Adrien desperately needs help.

But he doesn’t _want _help. He’s come to take some sick comfort in his body reflecting the state of his soul. There’s a warped sense of harmony in having his muscles grow weak alongside his spirit—it’s physical grief, grief he can feel when he struggles out of bed, grief he can see when he looks in the mirror and sees how gaunt his face has become.

It’s not that he’s actively trying to kill himself. He never made a conscious decision to start starving himself, and he would never try to physically hurt himself. It’s more that he doesn’t care. If he wastes away and joins Marinette, so be it. It wouldn’t be the wrong thing to do.

And yet, maybe it’s because he’s not thinking straight, or because some small, traitorous part of him is stupid enough to want to get better—but when Luka asks if he can come in, Adrien finds himself nodding and stepping aside.

Luka’s silent for a moment as he takes in the state of Adrien’s room. Adrien’s too numb to be embarrassed, though he knows what Luka sees. Bags upon bags of stale pastries sit on the coffee table, surrounded by rings of crumbs, and dirty clothes litter the sofa and surrounding floor. He’s been brushing his teeth and showering, but only because Nino and Alya would notice if he didn’t; his personal hygiene doesn’t extend to putting his clothes in a hamper.

His bed is unmade, the covers twisted and half-hanging off the mattress, a single pillow sitting askew—a few days ago, in a fit of rage, he’d thrown the other pillow across the room and never retrieved it. In a second surge of anger last night, he’d shoved his globe onto the floor, where it’s still lying right now. After that second fit, he tossed Marinette’s lucky charm in a drawer and slammed it shut, afraid that it would be the next victim of his rage. 

Next to the globe is a glass that Adrien accidentally knocked over this morning when he stumbled out of bed, broken into three pieces and surrounded by a puddle of water. A full glass of water sits in its place by his bed, untouched, and beside it is a basin filled with vomit that he hasn’t gotten around to dumping yet. Adrien doesn’t think the sour smell is too detectable, but then, he’s probably become nose-blind to the room he’s locked himself in. Again, he’s too tired to be ashamed.

After a minute, Luka turns to Adrien and pulls him into a hug. Adrien starts to pull away, but that only causes Luka’s arms to tighten around him. Left with no choice, Adrien returns the hug, burying his face in Luka’s shoulder. His eyes sting hot with tears, and he wants to apologize for getting Luka’s shirt wet—except his throat has constricted, and there’s bile on his tongue, and the words won’t come.

Luka’s hand moves to Adrien’s upper back and rubs comforting circles. He doesn’t say anything, which Adrien appreciates. _I__’__m sorry _and _my condolences _are nowhere near enough when his partner and soulmate has been killed by a villainous psychopath. 

They stay like that for several minutes. When Adrien can finally breathe without breaking into sobs, he sniffs. “Everyone…”

“Hm?” Luka says.

“Everyone else is coping,” Adrien mumbles into his shirt. “Everyone else is dealing with this, but I don’t know how.”

“There’s no right or wrong way,” Luka says.

“But I don’t…” Adrien swallows. “I don’t even know how to get better. Nothing…nothing works. It’s different for me, I can’t tell you why, it just is, and nothing…” He squeezes his eyes shut and tightens his hold on Luka as fresh tears threaten to fall.

“I know,” Luka says softly.

“You don’t,” Adrien insists. “You _don__’__t._”

Luka doesn’t respond right away. Then he pulls away, his hands resting softly on Adrien’s shoulders. “I promise, Adrien, I do.”

This is new: someone pretending to know about the swirling storm of guilt and anger and grief in Adrien’s head. But Luka doesn’t know. He can’t possibly. Still, Adrien finds himself babbling to him, “It’s all my fault—I should have been there for her—I might as well have killed her, Luka, it’s all my fault and—”

“Adrien,” Luka says. “I know you think it is, but it’s not. And no one blames you.”

“I do,” Adrien mutters.

“Don’t. She wouldn’t want you to blame yourself. There’s nothing you could have done.”

At that, Adrien plants his hands on Luka’s chest and shoves him away. Although Luka staggers backwards a step, his eyes remain soft and full of sympathy. He doesn’t seem mad that Adrien pushed him, even though he should be. It was petty, and juvenile, and Adrien knows that he shouldn’t have—but he’s just so angry_, _so tired of everyone missing the point, of everyone thinking he’s just another classmate grieving Marinette.

“You don’t know that!” Adrien says, hands curling into fists. “You—you don’t know anything. No one does. No one knows that I—that she…”

And then he’s sobbing again, arms hanging uselessly at his sides, mouth hanging open in a loud cry of pain. He stands like that for a moment, and then he throws himself at Luka, seeking warmth, seeking contact. Despite the fact that he just pushed Luka away, Luka doesn’t refuse him; he merely opens his arms and pulls Adrien against him again, holding him even tighter than before.

It’s good that he does, because it’s not long before Adrien’s knees buckle and he collapses against Luka. Luka supports his weight and guides him over to his bed, then sits down and pulls Adrien towards him. Adrien curls up with his head on Luka’s legs, face pressed into his stomach, arms clinging to his waist. He shudders and sobs, barely registering Luka’s fingers as they card through his hair. Distantly, he recognizes that it’s comforting. But his mind is hazy, heavy, and the sobs keep coming, tearing from his lungs like pages being ripped from a book.

Each cry tells a different story: an apology, a memory, a feeling he can’t put words to. They pour from him until his head is aching and his nose is plugged with mucus, until he’s almost throwing up from the strain—and then, slowly, they fade into hiccups, quiet moans, breaths that catch in his throat.

Luka doesn’t say anything the entire time. Maybe it’s because he’s self-proclaimed to be bad with words—or maybe it’s because, like Adrien, he knows that words are worthless right now. When Adrien’s cries have quieted, though, Luka’s hand reaches between them, prodding his stomach and ribs. “Adrien,” he murmurs. “You need to eat.”

“I ate already.”

“No. You didn’t.”

“I can’t,” Adrien whispers. “I get sick.”

Luka’s weight shifts, and a few seconds later, he slides a pillow under Adrien’s head. Then he moves out from under Adrien and stands. “I’ll be back.”

His absence makes the bed feel cold and lonely. Adrien closes his eyes and curls into an even tighter ball, willing sleep to take him like it always does when he’s cried himself into exhaustion. He doesn’t want to talk to Luka anymore—he wants to dream, wants to see Marinette and pretend that she’s still alive. But sleep won’t come. Adrien’s eyes stay cracked open, his ears listening for Luka’s return.

A few minutes later, the door creaks open and Luka appears in front of him. Adrien blinks and struggles into a sitting position to find that Luka’s brought a plate with two pieces of toast.

“Here,” Luka says.

“No,” Adrien says. “It’ll make me sick.”

“Adrien,” Luka says, holding the plate out. “You have to eat. You didn’t have much body fat to begin with, and I’m pretty sure you’ve lost most of it.”

“Well, I _am_ a model,” Adrien says. “That’s par for the course.”

Luka’s eyes narrow. It’s a scary look on someone who’s normally so laid-back. “Adrien.”

“Kidding.” Adrien delicately takes a slice of toast from the plate, then stares at it, fighting back a wave of nausea. “It, uh, might take me a while to eat this. You don’t have to stay.”

“If I leave,” Luka says, “that toast is going to end up on the table next to those pastries.”

“No, I’ll—”

“I’m staying.”

With a shaky breath, Adrien tears off a tiny piece of toast and places it in his mouth. As he eats, Luka sits on the bed next to him and deftly tears the other slice into pieces for him. By the time he’s done with that, Adrien has just managed to chew and swallow that first small piece.

“This is going to take too long,” Adrien says.

“I’ll wait.”

Slowly, Adrien manages to finish the first piece of toast. When Luka offers him the plate with the other piece, he hesitates, not sure he can finish the second. But Luka rubs his back encouragingly, and somehow, Adrien finds himself lifting another bite of bread to his mouth.

Eventually, he’s done, left staring at an empty plate full of crumbs. He licks his lips. “Th-thanks.”

Luka nods and sets the plate beside Adrien’s bed. “Do you want anything else?”

Adrien shakes his head. “Can’t stomach it.”

“That’s alright.” Luka grabs the full glass of water and sniffs it. “This is water, right?”

Adrien snorts. “I’m not keeping vodka at my bedside, no.”

“Had to check. Can you drink half of this?”

Once again, Adrien finds himself thinking _no _but nodding _yes_—what is it about Luka Couffaine that makes it so hard to refuse?

He accepts the glass from Luka and brings it to his lips, struggling to keep his hand steady. A few drops of water spill onto his lap, so Luka reaches out and helps him hold onto the glass. A small part of Adrien thinks _pathetic, this is pathetic_, until the water coats his tongue and he realizes how thirsty he is, and then he can’t be bothered to care.

He tries to finish the glass, but Luka pulls it away before he can drink more than half. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

_Good. That’s how I should feel, _Adrien wants to say. It’s what he’s been telling himself for the past week. Instead, he just shrugs and watches as Luka places the glass back at his bedside.

“I’m tired,” Adrien mumbles. Part of him hopes it will make Luka go away. The other part wilts at the thought.

“Is that your way of asking me to leave?”

“I don’t know,” Adrien admits.

Luka nods, as if that makes any sort of sense. He pats a hand against his legs, and Adrien finds himself laying his head on them once again. He’s always been a tactile creature, though for the past few years he’s mostly been starved of it by his father. Even when he does experience touch, it’s often just groping by obsessive fans or girls who fawn over him; rarely does anyone simply hold him.

But Luka does, humming a tune that Adrien doesn’t recognize as his hand runs up and down Adrien’s side. It’s nice, repetitive—and within seconds, Adrien has drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: I first outlined this fic a few months ago, and I wrote most of the first draft before the August/September episodes came out. In fact, I still have not seen some of those new episodes, which means that parts of this fic might not match canon. So, if you notice anything like that, please just ignore it and accept this as an alternate universe, lol.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter warnings:** Panic attack

After that, Luka starts visiting Adrien twice a day. The time varies, though he always manages not to overlap with Nino or Alya, which makes Adrien suspect that they’re coordinating their visits.

Whenever Luka shows up, Adrien knows he’s going to have to eat something. Luka never forces him to consume vast quantities of food, though—just small portions of bland things. Toast, bananas, crackers, rice. He even brings a twenty-count pack of Gatorade and makes sure Adrien is drinking it, telling him that vomiting depletes electrolytes. Adrien already knows that, of course, but it somehow sounds more sensible coming from Luka’s mouth.

After Adrien has eaten, he usually falls asleep. Sometimes, when he wakes up, Luka is still there; other times, he can’t stay, but he always leaves a note next to Adrien’s bed explaining where he’s gone.

And to Adrien’s frustration, Luka insists on cleaning up his room whenever Adrien passes out. When Adrien’s awake, he manages to protest—but when he’s unconscious, there’s nothing he can do to stop Luka. Within two days of Luka’s first visit, the sofa and floor are clear of dirty clothes, the coffee table is empty and wiped down, broken glass has been swept up, and his vomit-filled basin has been dumped and scrubbed. While Adrien doesn’t really have the will to keep his room clean, he tries anyway, if only to make sure Luka’s efforts aren’t wasted.

One day, as Adrien’s falling asleep against Luka’s side, he asks him what song he’s humming.

“It’s a song I’ve been learning on guitar,” Luka says. “Do you want me to play it for you?”

Adrien nods, eyes drooping shut.

The next time Luka visits, he’s brought his guitar with him. Adrien falls asleep before he’s even done tuning, and when he wakes up, Luka’s halfway through another song he doesn’t recognize. Noticing that Adrien’s awake, Luka instantly switches to the song Adrien had asked him to play before. Adrien closes his eyes and lets the music fill his head, drowning out the painful thoughts.

When Luka’s not there, Nino and Alya still come. Rather than visiting separately, they stop by the Agreste mansion together, and they don’t bring food anymore; instead, they sit with Adrien and talk to him, trying to catch him up on what he’s missed since he stopped going to school. Adrien plays the part for them—he asks after his classmates, makes jokes about the course material, fakes a smile when one of them tells him a funny story. He knows they’re mourning too, and if convincing them he’s okay makes things easier for them, he’s happy to keep up the charade.

When Luka’s there, though, Adrien can’t pretend. Around him, the façade comes crashing down, and there’s no energy for feigning smiles or forcing laughs. The little drive Adrien has is spent on getting better. It’s exhausting, and hard, and Adrien’s so fatigued, so far from the finish line that he doubts he’ll ever improve.

Slowly, though, he does.

* * *

One afternoon, during the third week of Luka’s visits, he arrives with a pile of manuscript paper for music notation. “How’s your music theory?” he asks, setting his guitar case down.

Adrien frowns. It takes his brain a moment to figure out that Luka hasn’t asked _how’s your stomach _or _how’s your head? _Those are the questions he’s used to answering—usually in monosyllables. But _how’s your music theory _is a new one.

Eventually, Adrien says, “I know some. Why?”

Luka nods. He flips up the latches of his case and pulls his guitar out, then starts fiddling with the tuning pegs. “I know your father has you playing a lot of classical compositions.”

“I—I can try to play something,” Adrien says. “I’m a little rusty. I haven’t touched the piano since…”

“No, it’s fine,” Luka says. “That’s not necessary. Do you ever write your own stuff?”

Adrien stares at Luka. “I…no.” Sometimes, when he’s playing a piece that he’s practiced dozens of times, he’ll try to add a flourish, maybe improvise a descant—but if his father overhears, he always scolds him. _Play it how you practiced, Adrien. That’s not how it’s supposed to sound._

Probably because of that, it’s never occurred to him to try making up his own music. His father would inevitably dismiss any original compositions as useless.

Luka nods again. “What do you like to play?”

“Well.” Adrien rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Anime and video game soundtracks?” Before Marinette’s death, he’d been trying to learn a song from _Fullmetal Alchemist, _but he hasn’t looked at the sheet music in weeks.

Slinging his guitar strap across his torso, Luka carries Adrien’s desk chair over to the piano and sits. “That’s cool. I once spent a month trying to figure out the palace song from _Majora’s Mask._ It didn’t transcribe very smoothly to guitar, and I play a lot of songs by ear, which made it a bit harder. Plus, getting it up to speed was frustrating. My fingers kept getting tangled.”

Adrien takes a seat at the piano, stunned. Luka hardly ever says this much at once—then again, Adrien supposes that if any subject was going to make Luka talkative, music would make the most sense.

“Deku’s Palace, you mean?” Adrien says, trying to recall how that song goes. “What, uh…does that work on guitar?”

Instantly, Luka’s fingers start plucking the melody, flying across the guitar as he plays the theme. Some places, he adds slides or grace notes, tiny deviations from the melody—but it’s definitely recognizable.

When he finishes, Adrien offers a small round of applause. “That’s impressive.” His fingernails tap against the piano keys. “I always liked the observatory theme. Um, it was…” He plays a few notes on his right hand. “I think it went like that? I’d have to listen to it to remember the rest. I usually play from sheet music, though.”

Luka pulls out his phone and starts scrolling. “I’m sure someone’s arranged it for piano. Hold on.”

After a few moments, Luka manages to find a tutorial for the song and pulls it up on his phone. Adrien’s not sure exactly how, but his knowledge of classical music translates easily enough to learning by sight—as he watches the video, he doesn’t have much trouble figuring out the chords and patterns that make up the song.

“Huh,” Adrien says at one point, pausing the video. “That’s weird. I remember it going like this.” He plays the bar again, but changes the last few notes of the melody to match his memory.

“Then play it like that,” Luka says. He’s been picking at his guitar strings as Adrien learns the song, half-following along, but he stops to echo the line Adrien just played. “I like it.”

“But that’s not how it goes.”

Luka plays Adrien’s version of the line again, grinning. “It is now.”

Adrien finds himself returning Luka’s grin with a small smile. “D’accord.” He taps his chin. “Why stop there, though?” Picking up where he left off, he deviates from the melody, sprinkling in notes from the title theme over the chords from the observatory song. It almost works, though a few notes seem off. “Merde. Something went wrong.”

Luka frowns, plucking a few snippets of what Adrien just played. “Try changing the chord on the left hand. I think you’re in major when the melody is in minor.”

Adrien tries again, but falters when he reaches the problem spot. “I…don’t remember what I did.”

“I recorded it,” Luka says. He grabs his phone off the piano and taps the screen; a second later, Adrien’s improvisation plays from the speakers. “Force of habit. I have the same problem, so I tend to record myself whenever I’m playing, just in case I think of something really good.”

Adrien plays the recording one more time to cement the melody in his mind, then turns to the piano and plays it again, implementing the change Luka suggested. As if by magic, the tune works flawlessly with the chords.

Of course, it’s not magic—it’s music theory.

Luka stays until Adrien’s made it halfway through the song. By then, though, it’s almost seven, and he has to leave for dinner.

“Did you eat?” Luka asks, as he puts his guitar back in its case.

Adrien’s stomach growls in answer. He grimaces. “Yeah, I actually did. But it looks like I’m still hungry. I’ll microwave some soup or something after you leave.”

Microwavable soup: a genius invention for people like Adrien, who are both too depressed and too incompetent to make real soup.

“Sounds good,” Luka says. He doesn’t offer something absurd like an invitation to join his family for dinner—Adrien’s made it clear that he’s not leaving the Agreste mansion for a while. “Make sure you’re drinking water.”

Adrien nods, watching as Luka finishes packing up his things. Then he follows Luka out of the bedroom and downstairs. Lately, rather than staying in his room when Luka leaves, he’s been accompanying him to the front door; Luka jokes that Adrien gets his daily five seconds of fresh air that way.

After he’s waved and watched Luka disappear through the front gate, Adrien stands on the front steps for a minute, humming Legend of Zelda tunes to himself.

It occurs to him that, for the first time in weeks, his mind is occupied by something other than Marinette.

* * *

Over the next week, Luka brings his guitar every afternoon to play with Adrien. The two figure out video game tunes, anime openings, random theme songs—and the more they do, the better Adrien gets at improvising and playing by ear. Sometimes Luka makes a suggestion or an amendment, but for the most part, he leaves Adrien to his own devices.

One day, Adrien bangs out the closing chords of a _Noragami _theme and leans back, flexing his fingers. “So…why did you want me to play music, all of a sudden?”

“Just an idea I had.” Luka unclips the capo he’d placed on his guitar. “I thought of it weeks ago, but your physical health was…bad. I had to take care of that first.”

“You didn’t _have _to,” Adrien murmurs. He still doesn’t quite understand why Luka’s taken such an interest in him since Marinette’s death—it’s odd for an acquaintance to make Adrien’s recovery such a priority. Even Nino and Alya aren’t this dedicated.

Luka looks up, his eyes boring into Adrien’s. “Okay. I wanted to, then.”

“Um.” Adrien swallows. “Th-thank you, for that.”

Luka nods. “But I don’t think you’ve healed emotionally.”

“I know,” Adrien says. “I should just get over it. Everyone else did.”

“We haven’t,” Luka says, his voice level. Adrien’s not sure how he manages to remain calm when Adrien says inflammatory things like that—but he does, and that’s good, because Adrien’s not sure what he would do if he scared Luka away. “And I understand why you haven’t, either. You didn’t just lose a friend. You lost a partner.”

Adrien stares down at the piano keys, tears blurring his vision. Somewhere, beneath the numbed feelings of grief and anger, he’s surprised. “When you said you knew, you meant you…really knew.”

“I spend a lot of time watching and listening,” Luka says. “I notice things other people don’t. I’ve suspected you’re Chat Noir for a while.”

“Not anymore.” Despite Adrien’s best efforts, a tear drops onto one of the keys. “I had to turn in my Miraculous. Along with my kwami.”

“I’m sorry.”

Adrien scrubs an arm across his face, trying to catch the rest of his tears before they fall. “It…it’s for the best. If Papillon had attacked after that, I still would have gone up against him—but I wouldn’t have been in my right mind. He’d have gotten my Miraculous in no time.” Adrien’s throat tightens. “And you saw how I tore apart my room. Someone that angry shouldn’t have the power of destruction.”

“You were grieving.”

Adrien doesn’t say anything to that. What can he say, really?

“Anyway,” Luka continues. “You’re right. You had—still have—a lot of negative emotions, and with no outlet, your first instinct is to destroy the things around you. That’s why I think you should create something instead.”

“Like we’ve been doing?”

“Sort of,” Luka says. He toys with his guitar strings, looking at the frets instead of Adrien. “I don’t know what it’s like to lose my other half. But whenever I’m hurting, writing music helps. It lets me express things I can’t say with words.”

Considering, Adrien runs his fingers along the keys of the piano. “You want me to write a song?”

“For her, or about her, or something,” Luka says. “I’m no psychologist, but I think you need closure. This could help a little.”

Adrien stares at the keys. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“I’ll help.” After a moment of hesitation, Luka gently rests one of his hands atop Adrien’s. “Adrien. It sounds silly, but I _hear _a song in you. Bottling it up isn’t going to make you feel better.”

“If I’m being honest,” Adrien says, staring at Luka’s hand on his, “I don’t _want _to feel better. I mean, I do…but I also don’t.”

Luka’s silent for a moment. Then he says, “You mean, you don’t think you deserve to feel better.”

Adrien can only nod.

“I’m not sure if my opinion matters,” Luka says, “but I think you do. You’re trying to carry the world on your shoulders, when that’s not your burden to bear. You can’t keep holding yourself responsible for what happened.”

“Technically, I can.”

Luka sighs. “You can. I wish you wouldn’t.”

“I can’t promise that I’ll stop blaming myself,” Adrien says. “But I can try to write the song, if you think that will help.”

“I do.”

“Well, then.” Adrien gently removes Luka’s hand from his and turns to the piano, his fingers hovering about the keys. “I guess we should get started.”

* * *

Writing the song is not easy. It takes Adrien a week just to sort through his feelings enough to stop bashing the piano keys in anger—although that’s what he’s feeling, he knows it’s not what Marinette would want. And it’s not what she deserves, either. She deserves a song that’s pure and gentle like she was.

But it’s so hard to feel that. While Adrien knows there’s some sort of calm within the storm of rage and loss swirling in his heart, he has trouble finding it when Luka’s not around. Alone in his room, Adrien is too stricken to compose; it seems he’s only able to create when he has Luka’s soft smiles and gentle words of encouragement.

Little by little, though, he writes the song. The beginning is easy: what would Marinette sound like? It’s almost like solving a math problem, and Adrien finds the answer surprisingly simple. A single sustained chord, a high note that rings out above it, a few more chords. Marinette was always so full of joy and warmth, and so the beginning of the song is soft, ringing with clarity. And of course, there should be high notes played above the staff, tinkling on top like the bells of her laugh. Adrien wants the song to smile like she did.

Coming up with the main melody is harder. Adrien doesn’t know how _that _should sound, or what to do with his left hand.

“What do you want it to sound like?” Luka asks. His head is buried in a notebook of manuscript paper as he jots down the notes Adrien’s played.

“I don’t know.” Adrien sighs, fingers tapping the keys uselessly. “If I did, I’d be playing it.”

Luka shakes his head, flipping his pencil to erase something. “I don’t mean notes. I mean emotions. How do you want the music to feel?”

“I…” Adrien stares at the piano keys until his vision starts to become unfocused. “I don’t know. Happy, but…not joyful. I mean, it’s about Marinette, but it’s also about the fact that she’s gone.” He swallows. “I cared about her a lot. And I miss her a lot. What does that even sound like?”

“I don’t know, either,” Luka says. “It’s your song.”

Adrien sighs. “Right.” Although Luka’s been supportive, he insists that Adrien create the song by himself. Luka’s just there to transcribe and edit. “I guess I’ll try replaying the beginning.”

He plays through the opening chords again, and that’s when he hears it: the melody. His right hand breaks away from the chords and transitions into an arpeggio, up and back down, just like Ladybug swinging on her yo-yo. He repeats it a second time, and a third. Then he nods.

“I think that’s her,” Adrien says. “But the left hand…”

“What about you?” Luka asks. He doesn’t look up from the manuscript paper. “You cared about her, you miss her. What do _you_ sound like?”

What does Adrien sound like? If he’s being honest, he feels like the lowest note on the keyboard being hit over and over again, renewed just as the note starts to fade out. But that won’t work with this song.

Adrien plays a few notes on the left hand, a bass line that moves up towards the main melody. It’s brief, quiet, nothing complex. Chat Noir’s part is meant to support Ladybug’s—it hides in the background, creating the foundation for her song. Above that, his right hand continues to play the main melody, occasionally changing a few notes, but always following the same basic pattern.

After he’s done that for a while, Adrien turns to Luka. “Like that, maybe?”

Luka taps his pencil against his lips. “I like it. But I’ll need to play back the recording to transcribe the rest. I didn’t get all of it.”

An alarm goes off on Adrien’s phone, startling them. “Oh,” Adrien says. “I didn’t realize it was so late already.” Ever since he began grieving, his sense of time has been ruined—but Luka’s presence, which can make time fly or stand still depending on the day, has confused Adrien even more.

Luka nods and slips his own phone into his pocket, then begins to pack up his things. He never takes more of Adrien’s time than they’ve agreed upon, even though Adrien sometimes wishes Luka would protest and stay longer. He’s too considerate, and Adrien doesn’t know how to tell him that he should ignore Adrien’s words and stay.

Guitar slung over his shoulder, Luka makes his way to Adrien’s bedroom door, then pauses. “You know, if…if you ever want to eat dinner together, we could. It doesn’t have to be my whole family. Just me.”

“You don’t trust me to eat when I’m alone?”

Luka sighs. “No, I do. I was just offering.”

Adrien wants to accept Luka’s offer. He does. Because while he _has _been eating full meals, his mind always wanders when he eats alone. By the time he reaches the last few bites, his stomach is twisted with grief and it’s a struggle to get the food down. He knows it would be easier with someone else there to put his mind at ease.

He doesn’t want to burden Luka, though. Luka’s already offered so much, and Adrien’s afraid that if he takes any more, Luka will just disappear. He needs to preserve him, to preserve _this, _for as long as he can.

“Adrien?” Luka says. “Is something wrong?”

Adrien shakes his head, forcing a smile. “No. I appreciate the offer, but I think I’d rather eat by myself.”

Luka’s eyes scrunch slightly—it’s a pained look he gives Adrien whenever he tells lies or half-truths. “Are you sure?”

_No, _Adrien thinks. _No, I’m lying. Please stay._

“Yeah,” Adrien says. “But thank you. Really.”

With a nod, Luka descends the stairs, and Adrien follows him to the door as usual. “Same time tomorrow?” Luka asks.

“Yeah.”

As Adrien watches Luka go, he’s mad at himself. He wants Luka around—why can’t he just say that? He’s getting tired of this self-sabotage and self-inflicted misery. Adrien knows it’s not helping him heal, but it’s an awful habit he’s latched onto: anything to prolong the suffering, to hurt in Marinette’s place.

Stupid, _stupid_. Where’s Plagg to tell Adrien to snap out of it? If he was here, he wouldn’t sit back and watch Adrien wallow in grief. He’d swallow a piece of Camembert whole and tell Adrien to start living again.

But Plagg’s not here, and Adrien doesn’t have the strength to tell himself that.

After Luka leaves, Adrien tries to practice what he’s written of the song so far, but he doesn’t have the recording or the sheet music, and he can’t completely remember how it goes. Worse, the harder he tries to remember, the more he gets wrong. Just like his memories of Marinette—as the days go by, they begin to fade, until her face is fuzzy in his mind and he can’t quite recall her voice. It’s barely been a month. How can he forget so fast?

Adrien tries and tries to recall the song, barely getting through three notes before he makes a mistake. Eventually, he slams his hands against the keys and hunches over the keyboard, choking back tears.

A song isn’t going to help. No amount of playing is going to fix Adrien. The only thing that can make him feel better is Marinette coming back, and that’s impossible. He wants to be hopeful, to believe Luka when he says that Adrien can get better, but he believes him less with each passing day.

Recovery, Adrien’s learning, is like this: weeks pass, and he feels like he’s walked a mile, only to turn around and see that he’s only walked a few steps. He was exhausted weeks ago. He’s exhausted now. He’s tired, so tired, and he doesn’t know why he’s still moving at this point—just that something’s keeping him from stopping.

Luka comes back the next day and they continue the song. With sheet music in front of him, Adrien’s relieved to find that he’s still able to play the song; it comes back to him almost immediately.

Pointing to a few bars, Luka says, “The transcription doesn’t quite match the recording in those spots. I think you meant to do one thing and played another, so I wrote what seemed like your intention. If you want me to change it back, though, I can.”

Adrien pauses to listen to the recording, then shakes his head. “No, you were right. You wrote what I meant to do.”

Luka smiles. “Good.”

Over the next few days, Adrien works on the middle of the song. This section is the hardest: joining his and Marinette’s parts together is no easy task. At first, the melodies trip over each other, and Luka is stuck trying to untangle them. It almost reminds Adrien of his and Ladybug’s first meeting, when she flew out of the sky and accidentally tied them up in their yo-yo. Smiling to himself, he mentions the memory to Luka.

Luka laughs, scribbling on the manuscript paper. “She catapulted into you?”

“Yep,” Adrien says. “I was walking across my staff, thinking, _Hey, I’m getting the hang of this! _And then she knocked me out of the sky.”

“So Ladybug wasn’t always so coordinated,” Luka says. “Well, I guess you two had to start somewhere.”

“Yeah,” Adrien says. “We did.” He swallows, staring at the keys. “Did you…uh, did you get rid of the extra notes in that last line?”

“Almost.” Luka frowns at the paper, tongue pinned against his upper lip in thought. He jots down a few more notes, pausing to hum to himself, then erases a couple of them and hands the paper to Adrien. “There. I think that’s the bass line you wanted?”

Adrien plays what Luka’s written and nods. “That’s it. The other notes were accidents.”

“I could tell where your fingers tripped,” Luka says. “Then again, sometimes mistakes make the song better, you know? I don’t have to erase all of them.”

They continue like that for a few days—Adrien composing, Luka editing—until the main part of the song is complete. Marinette’s melody continues on top, changing occasionally but mostly staying the same. After all, while Marinette had different sides, different traits, she was always Marinette: Adrien’s friend, partner, soulmate. A red and black mask didn’t change that.

And then there’s Adrien’s melody. It consists of arpeggios beneath the main melody, climbing up toward Marinette’s part but never quite catching up to it. The right hand always moves just out of reach, and the two parts never quite meet—because after all, Adrien and Marinette never did, either. They were always dancing around each other. They fought together, went to school together, fell for one another, and in the end, they only came close.

It’s a gorgeous part of the song. It’s also incredibly painful, despite its beauty.

Luka cleans up the music as they go, eliminating Adrien’s slip-ups and errors so that the song completely takes shape. And the more Adrien composes, the more certain he becomes that this song is _right. _It’s his and Marinette’s song. Night and day, yin and yang, their two parts move together to form a whole. Hers is steady, consistent, reliable, while Adrien’s trips occasionally—sometimes there’s dissonance, his notes clashing together beneath the melody. Those are mistakes that Adrien decides to leave in, because it’s not a _bad _kind of dissonance. It’s just…him. He clashed with Ladybug sometimes. He wasn’t perfect.

But in the end, they still worked. Just like the song.

The bass part climbs up and falls back down, a descending arpeggio that slinks away from her. And then it comes back to her again: because how can he not come back? How can he stay away? In battle, in death, Adrien could never abandon her completely. He’s still chasing that melody.

It takes over a week for Adrien to compose the last few lines. He’s almost afraid to finish the song, because he’s not sure what happens once he does. What if it’s not enough? What if it doesn’t do their relationship—do _her_—justice? What if the small bit of healing he’s done goes away once the song’s complete?

After two sessions of no progress, Luka sets the sheet music aside and takes one of Adrien’s hands, pulling it away from the keys. “Adrien. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Adrien says. “I’m just having trouble coming up with the ending.”

Luka stares at him, eyes searching. “I don’t think that’s it.”

Adrien sighs. “I’m afraid the ending won’t be good enough,” he says. “And I’m afraid that once I end it—then what? Do I go back to…to being lost?”

“I won’t let that happen,” Luka says, squeezing his hand.

“You can’t control it,” Adrien says. He pulls his hand away from Luka’s. “I can’t, either. I just don’t…”

He doesn’t finish his thought. He’s used to saying _I don’t want to feel better,_ but now he has to wonder if that’s true. Although writing this song has been painful, Adrien can’t deny that it’s cathartic. When he plays it, he feels more at ease. And every time he gets a taste of that almost-happiness, he wants more. He’d forgotten how it felt to have a heart instead of a black hole inside his chest.

Luka watches Adrien, patiently waiting for him to finish his sentence.

Adrien shakes his head. “I don’t know. Maybe it will be fine.”

“I think so,” Luka says.

And so the song comes to an end, as it has to. Marinette’s melody becomes chords and intervals on the right hand: she was so many things to so many people, wasn’t she? A daughter, a friend, a partner, a hero. It doesn’t feel like Paris lost one person. It feels like it lost a thousand.

The left hand delves deep into the bass, growling out low notes below Marinette’s chords. That’s Adrien’s pain, his frustration. He never really got to know her. He never really got the chance to love her, and now she’s gone, and there’s no way for him to go back.

The song can’t circle back to the beginning. It has to end, and so it does: almost abruptly, the bass and treble fall into unison, playing the same two notes in two octaves. Four people—but in the end, only two, and even then, parts of the same whole.

Luka leaves again and transcribes the rest at home. At this point, Adrien’s almost memorized it completely, but he still needs Luka to take out the parts that don’t work, pruning the excess. It’s almost poetic: Luka eliminates the mistakes the same way he absorbs Adrien’s pain, drawing the hurt and anger from Adrien’s blood like an antidote. Adrien almost feels like an akuma butterfly that’s slowly and painfully being purified.

And Adrien’s scared by that thought. After all, Ladybug never kept the butterflies she purified—she bid them adieu and watched them fly away. Is that what Luka’s going to do? Once Adrien’s healed, is Luka going to wish him well and say goodbye?

The next day, the song is complete. Luka enters the mansion and follows Adrien up to his room, his blue hair damp and dripping from the rain outside.

“Don’t you have an umbrella?” Adrien asks.

Luka shrugs. “I don’t mind getting rained on.” Pushing a wet strand of hair from his face, he hands a stack of sheet music to Adrien. “Are you ready?”

Adrien glances over the last few bars that Luka’s transcribed. “Let me run over the new part first.”

He quickly plays through the ending and finds that once again, Luka has successfully taken away the notes that shouldn’t be there. It’s amazing, how Luka can see straight through the noise and find Adrien’s intentions hidden among the muddled notes. Adrien wonders if Luka sees through other things, too—like Adrien’s insistence that he doesn’t want to be around Luka more often, that he’s fine by himself. From the looks Luka gives him sometimes, Adrien’s pretty certain Luka knows that he’s lying.

That’s the thing about Luka, though: he never pushes. He nudges Adrien in the right direction or gently guides him away from the things that hurt him, but he doesn’t try to force Adrien to get better, or insist that he has to get his act together. If Adrien’s father was paying any attention right now, Adrien has no doubt that’s what he would say. But Luka is kind and patient, far more than Adrien feels like he deserves.

Adrien glances at Luka, who’s sitting on the stool beside the piano as usual. “Okay. I guess we should…see how it sounds.”

Rain taps gently against the window as Adrien begins the song. After the opening chord, though, he jerks his hands away from the piano, clenching them into fists.

“Adrien?” Luka murmurs.

“I—what if it’s wrong?” Adrien asks, turning to Luka. “What if…I don’t know. What if it’s no good?”

“That’s impossible,” Luka says. “Adrien, this is a song about what you’re feeling. It can’t be wrong or bad.”

But it _can _be. Adrien’s never been good at expressing himself. What if he didn’t put enough emotion into the song? Maybe he suppressed his feelings too much, and now the song is shallow and meaningless. He can’t play a song like that for Marinette.

Adrien shakes his head. “It won’t be enough.”

“Nothing is,” Luka says. “Not when something like this happens. But trust me, Adrien. It’s a start.”

Eyes stinging, Adrien turns to the piano. “Luka,” he says, “what if I’m always like this?”

“You won’t be.”

“You don’t know that.”

Luka’s silent for a moment. “No. I don’t.” Adrien doesn’t take his eyes off the piano keys, but he sees Luka move in his peripheral vision, and a second later, he feels him sit on the piano bench next to him. “Please, Adrien. Can you try?”

Adrien looks up to meet Luka’s eyes. They’re so gentle, so full of pain—but for what? Adrien? Luka shouldn’t care so much about him. Then again, Luka had been friends with Marinette. Maybe he’s still grieving her. Maybe that’s why he wants to hear Adrien’s song.

Even as he thinks it, Adrien knows that’s not it. It’s clear by now that, for whatever reason, Luka’s determined to help Adrien get better. That’s why he really wants Adrien to play the song.

Taking a deep breath, Adrien nods. “I’ll try.”

With Luka beside him, Adrien plays the opening chords of the song, then pauses. The notes ring out, underscored by the pattering of rain outside—and then Adrien forges ahead, fingers finding the main melody with ease.

As the music swells, the bass and treble lines melding together, Adrien feels a tug at his heart. He’s not sure what it is, whether it’s yearning, grief, loss, love. But it pulses through his veins and pounds with his heartbeat as he plays. He feels like he’s in the air, an overtone floating above the piano. And he feels like he’s one of the piano strings, thrumming with each press of a key. He’s part of the song, and he’s not; it encases him like a cocoon and vibrates in his chest at the same time.

And as Adrien plays, he doesn’t think of Marinette or Ladybug, doesn’t think of anything at all. He just _feels._

All too soon, his fingers fall on the last chord, and the song is over. The finality hits Adrien twofold—it’s not just the song that’s ended. It’s so much more.

He yanks his hands from the piano and presses them to his eyes, trying to stop the tears, but his body is already shaking with a sob. Adrien wails and doubles over the piano as every feeling he’s tried to numb is amplified and released. Clutching his stomach, he trembles and gasps for air, feeling the heat of tears as they sting his eyes and roll down his face.

Luka’s arms wrap around Adrien immediately, holding him as he begins to thrash. Adrien slams a fist against the piano, a crash of dissonant notes like thunder. He does it again, and again, until Luka grabs his hand and pins it against him.

“Adrien,” Luka says, pulling him into a hug. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Adrien says, hiccupping. “It’s not. She’s gone.” He lets out a hoarse scream, clinging to Luka so tightly that it must hurt. The sound grates his throat. “It’s not okay. I’m not okay.” Saying the words out loud sends a new wave of grief through Adrien. “I’m not okay,” he murmurs. “Luka, I’m not. I’m not okay.”

Luka’s arms tighten around him, and his hand strokes Adrien’s hair. “I know,” he says. “But it’s okay to feel this. You need to.”

“I don’t want to,” Adrien says. He buries his face against Luka’s shoulder, mouth pressed to the fabric of Luka’s shirt. “I’m dying. I feel like I’m dying.”

“You’re not,” Luka whispers. He doesn’t loosen his hold on Adrien. “I’m here. I’m not leaving.” His other hand rubs Adrien’s back, soothing him. “You don’t need to bottle this up. I’ll stay. Please, Adrien. No matter what you’re feeling, I’ll stay.”

It’s like those words break a dam inside Adrien. He fists Luka’s shirt in his hands as a fresh sob bursts in his lungs. For a minute, he can’t speak—he only cries and gasps in Luka’s arms, struggling to catch his breath.

“Breathe, Adrien,” Luka says. “You need to breathe.”

After a few tries, Adrien manages to take a shuddering breath and hold it. “I—it—it’s…”

“Shh.” Luka pats Adrien’s back. “Take a minute to breathe first.”

Adrien closes his eyes and focuses on the rise and fall of Luka’s chest, trying to match his breathing to Luka’s. Gradually, Adrien’s breaths slow, and as they do, his mind becomes foggy. His entire body goes limp, and in the warmth of Luka’s arms, he starts to slip out of consciousness.

“Do you need to lie down?” Luka asks.

Adrien nods. He can’t keep sitting up. He doesn’t have the energy.

Half-carrying him, Luka guides Adrien to the bed and helps him lie down. Adrien collapses on top of the covers immediately, and the bed dips beside him as Luka sits on the other side. Adrien feels Luka’s hand rubbing his back, stroking his hair—and then he drifts off, too drained to stay awake.

When Adrien wakes, he’s not sure how much time has passed. The room is darker, but that might be from the storm clouds outside. Or maybe it’s nighttime. He can’t tell. But his mouth is tacky, eyes crusty, which means he’s been out for more than a few minutes.

Twisting to look over his shoulder, he finds Luka sitting at the head of the bed with his back against the wall, eyes closed, breathing slow. One of his hands rests on his lap, while the other clasps Adrien’s shoulder.

Adrien gently removes Luka’s hand and rolls over. “Luka?”

Luka’s eyes open immediately. “You’re awake.”

“Did I—” Adrien yawns. “Did I wake you up?”

“I wasn’t asleep,” Luka says. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I got thrown off a building.” Adrien moves closer to Luka and curls up, resting his cheek against a fist. “Actually, wait. I’ve felt that before. This is worse.”

Luka nods. “Do you want to talk? I can listen.”

“Oh, no, it—it’s probably late,” Adrien says, searching his pocket for his phone. When he pulls it out, he sees that it’s already past seven. “You should go.”

Lips pressed tightly together, Luka exhales through his nose. “What if I tell you I’m staying?”

“Then…I guess I could talk.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I still feel guilty,” Adrien blurts out. He doesn’t look up at Luka—just stares at the sheets of his bed, tracing wrinkles with his finger. “It’s cliché, but I keep thinking it should have been me. Honestly, I _hate _that it wasn’t me. I feel like I failed.”

Luka hums. “I understand.”

“And I guess that’s why I don’t think I deserve to get better,” Adrien says. “I want to. But I feel like I’m doing something wrong. Like I’m hurting her somehow, if I…”

“Adrien,” Luka says softly. “That kind of thinking—the only person that hurts is yourself.”

“I know,” Adrien says. He’s surprised that he hasn’t broken down crying again—then again, his eyes are too dry for tears, and there’s a strange sense of calm in his mind. “I know. I just…even with all the time I spend thinking about her, it’s only now hitting me that she’s not coming back.” He swallows. “It’s not a dream, and she didn’t go on vacation, or some secret mission. There’s no superpower that will bring her back.”

“That’s the hard part, for me,” Luka says.

Adrien sits up, startled. He realizes now that this is the first time that Luka’s mentioned how _he _feels about losing Marinette. “Yeah?”

Luka nods, smiling sadly. “In a world with no magic, it would be easy to accept. But no matter how many people Papillon injured, or how many things he damaged, Ladybug always fixed it with her powers. Nothing felt permanent.”

“But this is,” Adrien says.

“Yeah.”

Adrien moves back until he’s leaning against the wall beside Luka. “Playing that song—I don’t know why, but for the first time, it felt real.” He shakes his head. “I wrote the song because she’s gone. And when I heard it…that reality was staring me in the face.”

“It’s hard,” Luka agrees. He wraps an arm around Adrien’s shoulders, pulling Adrien against him. “But we need to accept it.”

Adrien laughs hollowly. “I guess your songwriting idea worked.”

“I kind of like the song with the rain in the background,” Luka muses, fingers stroking the nape of Adrien’s neck. “I think it’s fitting.”

“Yeah,” Adrien says, staring at the rain streaming down his windows. “I do, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based Adrien's composition on a real arrangement of a real song, but I'm afraid y'all will kill me if I tell you which one. You can probably guess, though.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three quick notes: First, because I originally wrote this chapter a month or two ago, it contradicts canon slightly. Second, because I’m perpetually behind on episodes, some akumas never happened in this universe. For example, Ladybug and Chat Noir fought some version of Desperada (because otherwise Luka couldn’t have been Viperion in this universe), but most newer episodes—like Reflekdoll and such—never happened. 
> 
> And finally, I’m increasing the chapter count. If you follow me on Tumblr/Twitter, you know that I’m currently redoing the last few chapters of this fic, which means I’m adding entire scenes that weren’t in the original draft. That also means it might take me a bit longer to post the next chapter or two. I’m sorry about that! I’ll keep y’all posted on social media. 
> 
> **Chapter warnings:** Minor injury, brief mention of blood

Afternoon light streams through Adrien’s bedroom windows as he waits for Luka to come upstairs with Alya and Nino. Sitting at the foot of his bed, he taps nervously on his leg and tries to take deep breaths.

A few days after writing the song with Luka, Adrien had decided to reach out to Nino and Alya and let them know what’s really going on. He desperately needs their support—but that means telling them the truth, including that he used to be Chat Noir. And the thought of finally letting go of a secret that he’s kept so long…it’s intimidating, to say the least.

He knows he should have met them at the door, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave his room. It’s taking most of his willpower not to bolt into his bathroom and lock himself in.

Adrien takes another shaky breath. It’s so much easier when Luka is around. The weight in his chest isn’t as heavy, and he isn’t as quick to hyperventilate. Then again, Adrien needs to learn how to manage on his own. Luka’s his friend, not a crutch.

The thought brings a faint smile to Adrien’s face. After all this time, he’s still so slow to make friends—and even slower to accept that they care about him, too. It’s strange, this realization that Luka’s somehow sneaked into Adrien’s life and become one of the people he can count on. He keeps worrying that Luka will slip away as quickly as he appeared.

That thought quickly erases Adrien’s smile.

A few seconds later, someone knocks on the door. Adrien recognizes it as Luka from the even _tap-tap. _

“Come in,” Adrien says, standing.

Luka opens the door and leads Alya and Nino inside. They each wrap Adrien in a brief hug, their eyes wide and full of concern.

“Everything okay?” Nino asks. “Last time we talked, you seemed upset.”

“Like something was eating at you,” Alya adds. “You said you wanted to talk to us about that?”

Adrien nods. “I…um, I’m going to sit down.” He lowers himself onto the bed again, laughing. “Sorry. I thought I could stand, but I’m a little overwhelmed.”

Luka sits next to him. The warmth of his body makes Adrien feel calmer instantly. “Are you sure you want to? You don’t have to.”

“Personally, I’d like to know,” Alya says. “I’ve come up with a dozen worst-case scenarios, so anything you say will be a relief. But you don’t have to tell us.”

“Are you alright?” Nino repeats. “Everyone at school misses you. We’re a little worried.”

“That’s not your fault,” Luka murmurs in Adrien’s ear. And Adrien’s glad to hear that, because he’s too prone to blaming himself. He needs someone to counter the toxic voice in his head, the one that keeps saying _you’re the problem _over and over again.

Adrien nods, fingers brushing against Luka’s. “Right. Désolé, guys. I know I worried you. I…I took Marinette’s death a little harder than everyone else. But I didn’t know how to tell you that.”

“You’re telling us now,” Alya says. Her words are curt, to-the-point, but Adrien knows she’s being supportive. “Is there a reason for that? Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“Hey, Alya,” Nino says. “Slow down. Go easy on him.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Alya inhales deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I get excited easily. Of course you can take your time.”

“Right,” Adrien says. “I can’t really explain things to everyone, but I can explain them to you.”

He looks at Luka, who nods encouragingly. Then he takes a few deep breaths, trying to prepare himself. He has a speech he’s spent a week rehearsing: he’ll start by explaining that when he lost Marinette, he lost two friends, and then he’ll tell them how he’d loved both of her and hadn’t even realized it until it was too late. And he’ll say that Marinette was his other half, because he was Adrien—and that Ladybug was his other half, because he was Chat Noir.

But the moment Adrien opens his mouth, his practice fails him. “I was Chat Noir,” he says.

There are no horrified gasps or shouts of surprise. Nino and Alya stare at him in silence for a moment, and then Alya nods. “I did wonder—with Marinette being Ladybug, if maybe someone else we knew was…”

“And the way you took it, man,” Nino says. “We didn’t know if it was because—if you were—we just didn’t know.” His voice breaks on the last word. “You could’ve said something. We would’ve tried to help.”

Adrien nods. “I know. But I…spiraled.”

Luka’s arm wraps around his shoulders. “You’re doing better now.”

“No thanks to us,” Nino says bitterly. “I wish we could’ve helped.”

“You still can,” Adrien says, with a weak smile. “The grief, the guilt—it’s a lot. I…I kind of hate myself, most days.”

Luka’s hold on Adrien tightens, though he doesn’t say anything.

“You shouldn’t,” Alya says. She leans forward and grips Adrien’s shoulders, giving him a firm shake. “Let me tell you something. No one in their right mind blames Chat Noir for what happened. You were always willing to lay your life down for Ladybug. We know you did everything you could.”

“It doesn’t feel that way,” Adrien says. It’s something he’s said to Luka, before—but it’s the first time he’s been able to admit it to Alya and Nino, and he feels a little lighter the moment the words leave his mouth. “I mean, guys, she was _Marinette. _I always told myself I’d do anything to keep her safe, both her and Ladybug, and I…I failed.” He slumps under Alya’s grasp, his eyes flicking down to his feet. “Even if it’s not my fault, I still failed.”

“Yeah,” Alya says. “We all did. If only one of us could’ve gotten our hands on a Miraculous in time, you know? Or maybe I should have spent more time investigating Papillon’s identity instead of chasing akumas. The Ladyblog’s full of information. Maybe I—maybe I could have…”

Her hands drop from Adrien’s shoulders, and she steps back, lips pressed together. Nino takes her hand and laces their fingers together. “I keep thinking the same thing,” he says.

“A lot of people feel that way, Adrien,” Luka says quietly. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. You’re not the only one who feels responsible.”

“But I was her partner,” Adrien says. “Of all people, I should have …”

“You’re only human, dude,” Nino says. “Same as the rest of us.”

After that, they move to the couch to talk. Alya and Nino share that they were Rena Rouge and Carapace, but Adrien admits that he already suspected as much; and when Luka adds that he was Viperion, neither one of them are surprised.

“I guess there will be new wielders, now?” Alya says. “For our Miraculouses?”

Adrien shakes his head. “I don’t know. I mean, the Guardian knows most—if not all—of your identities, so maybe you’ll keep them. I’m sure it will be easier than training new heroes.”

“But he took yours away,” Alya says. “Why would he do that?”

“How is that fair?” Nino adds. “Didn’t he choose you? Does he blame you for…”

“No,” Adrien says, shoulders hunched. “It’s complicated. My Miraculous and Ladybug’s have to be balanced. He chose us as a pair, and with one of us gone, I couldn’t be Chat Noir anymore.”

“Like yin and yang,” Alya says. “I guess that makes sense.”

“But it’s still not fair,” Nino says.

“I don’t know,” Adrien says. “I’m kind of a mess right now. If Papillon attacked Paris, I…I don’t think I could go up against him. I think this is for the best.” He shrugs. “I doubt people will care that I’m gone, as long as someone’s wielding my Miraculous.”

“Hey,” Alya says. “Don’t say that. You were an amazing hero, Adrien. A lot of people looked up to you—not the Miraculous, but _you._ They’ll miss Chat Noir.”

Adrien finds himself glancing at Luka for his reaction. Luka smiles fondly at him and says, “She’s right. You’re amazing, Adrien. I can’t imagine someone doing a better job.”

“Or having a cooler suit,” Nino says. “Because man, that suit was cool.” 

Adrien laughs, surprising himself. “Yeah, I’d like to see my successor top that suit.”

“I doubt they’ll wear it as well as you,” Luka says.

Even though the comment is innocent, Adrien’s cheeks burn. “Uh…th-thanks.”

“Yeah, they definitely won’t,” Alya says. “Adrien, not to be weird, but you were pretty hot in that suit. And I would know, since I moderate comments on the Ladyblog.”

“At least half of Paris thirsts for you,” Nino agrees. “Combined with Adrien Agreste’s fans, probably about two-thirds.”

“That sounds about right,” Alya says. “Statistically speaking, two out of three people in any given room are thirsting after you.”

“Two out of three people, huh?” Adrien says. “Alright. So which one of you thinks I’m ugly?”

Everyone bursts into laughter at that—and finally, for at least a moment, the conversation moves on from sad things. Adrien asks Alya and Nino what his classmates are up to, and learns that earlier that day, Kim and Alix somehow managed to break the classroom window in a game of paper football.

“Paper football?” Luka echoes, looking horrified.

“They’re very aggressive,” Nino says, as if that explains anything.

Adrien’s still not as talkative as he used to be, but he listens as the others chat about school and life. They avoid the topic of Marinette for the most part; when she does come up, everyone’s eyes get a little wet at the mention of her. It’s a little easier to deal with the loss as a group—and it’s also a little harder, because they’re four people full of grief, none of them quite healed. They’re all a bit lost.

The sun has set by the time Nino and Alya announce that they need to get going. They each give Adrien another hug on their way out.

“And, you know,” Nino says, “we could hang out sometime, if you want. The four of us, or maybe me, Kim, and Max, or—or something. Just text me.”

Alya nods. “We could all use a sense of normalcy.”

Part of Adrien wants to protest that life without Marinette isn’t _normal_, and never will be—but he knows his friends are just trying to help, so he doesn’t say that. “Sure.”

“It will take time to adjust,” Luka says, his hand clasping Adrien’s shoulder. “But we need to move forward.”

“Right.” Adrien sniffs as tears prick his eyes. “A new normal. It’s just…hard.”

“Man,” Nino says, sighing. “I know. I don’t want the new normal, either. It hurts to think about.”

“Marinette wouldn’t want us to be sad,” Alya says firmly. There’s determination blazing in her eyes—it’s muted, but still there. “It would break her heart. And wherever she is now, I want her to be happy, you know?”

Adrien’s throat is tight. “I know. I do want to visit our classmates sometime. It’s just a little overwhelming.”

“I can go with you,” Luka murmurs.

Adrien nods. “Then, I think I can manage that. Maybe.”

“Cool,” Nino says. “Keep us posted. Don’t push yourself, man.”

“But also don’t shut us out,” Alya says. “We’re all Miraculous holders, remember? You can talk to us.”

“I know,” Adrien says, smiling. “Merci, Alya.”

After another round of hugs, Nino and Alya leave, promising to tell their other friends that Adrien says hello. Once they’re gone, Luka turns to Adrien. “How are you feeling?”

“Drained.” Adrien rests his forehead against Luka’s shoulder, and Luka’s arms automatically wrap around him, holding him close. “But better. I’m glad I told them.”

Luka pats Adrien’s back. “Do you want me to go now?”

“No,” Adrien mumbles. “Not really.”

“I can stay a little longer, then. We—” Luka breaks off as his stomach growls. He laughs. “Sorry. I skipped lunch.”

“We can order a pizza or something,” Adrien says. “If you want to stay for dinner.”

For a moment, Luka’s silent. It’s the first time since Marinette’s death that Adrien has offered to eat a meal with someone, and the significance probably isn’t lost on him. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I mean, if you want.”

Luka’s hand comes up to stroke Adrien’s hair. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, Adrien. I’d like that.”

* * *

Adrien knows, from news coverage, that the rest of Paris is struggling as well. For a city that’s seen hundreds of people revived after drowning or being zapped out of existence, it’s hard to accept that Ladybug’s death is permanent. To accept that she’s really gone is to accept that death isn’t always avoidable—that if a supervillain attacks today and someone dies, they might not come back.

But he also knows that with each passing day, fewer eyes check the skyline in hopes of seeing red and black. He’s stopped looking, of course. While he still believes in miracles, he’s realized that they’re fickle and rare. Slowly, other Parisians come to realize that as well.

They have a harder time accepting that Chat Noir is gone. At least they know that Ladybug is dead—but where is Chat Noir? Rumors abound that he’s been captured, run away, taken his own life. After a few weeks of ridiculous speculation, Alya corrects the record on the Ladyblog, explaining that Chat has retired because he can’t work without his other half.

That’s both too simple and too complicated for Parisians to accept. How could losing a partner render someone incapable of being a superhero? Does that mean someone is going to replace him?

In response, Chat Noir finally goes on the record for an audio interview with Alya. He apologizes for his sudden disappearance, and assures Paris that if Papillon attacks, a new Ladybug and Chat Noir will be there to fight back. Few people worry about that, though. Paris has never gone so many weeks without an akuma attack. Perhaps there’s peace at last. 

Two months after Ladybug’s death, Papillon still hasn’t sent any akumas, and a new Ladybug and Chat Noir still haven’t appeared. All of Paris holds its breath, wondering if extinguishing a young life was enough to deter Papillon from his mission. Adrien dares to let himself hope, as well. Maybe the city won’t need a new Ladybug and Chat Noir. It’s possible that killing was too far even for Papillon—that he regretted what he did enough to give up and slink away.

But no, apparently Papillon doesn’t give up that easily—because eleven weeks after Ladybug’s death, an akuma attacks Paris again, and this time, there’s no Ladybug or Chat Noir to stop it.

* * *

Up until Papillon attacks, Adrien has clung to some small hope that he might get his Miraculous back, even though he knows that’s impossible. He’d told his friends that he didn’t mind giving up the Miraculous, but that was a lie—he misses Plagg so much, misses the freedom of Chat Noir so much, that it makes him sick to his stomach some days. Deep down, he knows that his days as a Miraculous holder are over, and yet, he desperately hopes that Maître Fu was lying when he said Adrien couldn’t be Chat Noir anymore. Maybe there’s still a chance for him to come back. Maybe Maître Fu was just testing him.

Then again, Adrien’s not sure he could handle being Chat Noir again. As much as he misses it, wielding the Cat Miraculous would forever be tainted by the loss of his lady.

His last shreds of hope are scattered when he turns on the news to see the akuma attack. The camera is trained on a stranger in black who’s propelling themself through the air, doing their best to avoid the akuma’s attacks.

“It seems the old Chat Noir was correct,” Nadja says excitedly. “There’s a new Chat Noir protecting Paris! While the original will be missed, it’s good to know—”

Adrien shuts off the television, eyes stinging. Of course Maître Fu kept good on his promise to find a new Chat Noir. Why wouldn’t he? Adrien had been foolish to hope otherwise.

His first instinct is to deal with his pain alone. After months of grieving, though, he’s learned that it’s better to rely on his friends when he can. He grabs his phone and automatically dials Luka’s number, praying that he picks up.

But what if he doesn’t? What if he’s been hurt by the akuma?

As the phone rings, Adrien grits his teeth and holds back tears. Without the Cat Miraculous, he can’t protect Luka or anyone. He’s useless. Like the rest of Paris, he’ll have to rely on two novices to save the day.

How did anyone ever trust him or Ladybug, when they first started out? They had no idea what they were doing. Adrien doesn’t know why anyone believed in them.

The phone rings one final time before going to voicemail. _“Hey, it’s Luka. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you when I can.”_

Adrien’s tempted to hang up, but at the last minute, he decides to leave a quick message. “Salut, Luka. I saw there’s an akuma, so…I just wanted to make sure you’re safe. Call me back when you get this.”

Then he hangs up, staring at the phone in his hand with blurry eyes. _Please don’t be hurt, _he thinks. _I can’t lose you, too._

That’s the thing—somehow, after just a few months, Adrien can’t imagine life without Luka Couffaine in it. It’s not that he’s replaced Marinette. But along with Alya and Nino, he’s taken up residence in Adrien’s heart, and now Adrien’s terrified of having him ripped away.

Rubbing his eyes, Adrien dials Nino’s number. Fortunately, his friend picks up on the second ring. “Hey, man. I just saw the news. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Adrien says, standing and pacing across his room. “I—do I hear screaming in the background?”

“Alya’s chasing the akuma for some Ladyblog footage. It doesn’t feel as fun knowing Chat Noir’s not you, but…she kind of has a responsibility, you know?”

“Sure,” Adrien says sullenly. He feels like _he _has a responsibility, too—but without this Miraculous, he’d just be a liability if he tried to fight the akuma. The new Ladybug and Chat Noir will have enough trouble without having to worry about a vigilante citizen.

“Sorry,” Nino says. “I wish it was you, dude. I really do.”

Even though Nino can’t see him, Adrien finds himself nodding. “It is what it is,” he says. “And Nino, is the akuma anywhere near Luka’s place? He’s not picking up his phone and…and I’m worried.” He swallows, suddenly feeling like his lungs are too small. “I can’t lose him too, Nino. Or you and Alya. Please be careful.”

“We will be,” Nino says. “And, yeah. It’s kind of near the houseboat, but I don’t see Luka. He’s probably inside where it’s safe.”

“But he didn’t answer his phone,” Adrien says weakly.

“That happens a lot with these akuma attacks,” Nino says. “I remember one time mine got eaten by a giant dinosaur…uh, anyway, yeah. I’m sure he’s fine, Adrien.”

“I hope so,” Adrien whispers. It’s taking all of his willpower not to run out the door and sprint to Luka’s boat. “Anyway, be safe. I’ll talk to you later.”

“If I can get away from Alya,” Nino says. “She’ll probably be talking nonstop about the akuma attack afterwards.”

Adrien smiles. “Well, it’s good to have a distraction.”

“That’s true,” Nino says. Adrien hears Alya’s voice yell something in the background, and Nino sighs. “I’d better go. Love you, man.”

“You too,” Adrien says.

That’s something new, these past few weeks: Alya and Nino reminding him that they love him whenever they say goodbye. He can’t help but think it’s a result of Marinette slipping away too soon. They both probably wish they’d had a chance to tell her they loved her one last time. Adrien knows he does.

Hanging up, Adrien throws himself onto the couch and gropes around for the remote. His hand wraps around something hard and solid, smooth like polished wood, and…

That’s not a television remote.

With shaking hands, Adrien sets the wooden box on his coffee table and stares at it in disbelief.

Is he imagining this? It looks just like the box that held Plagg’s Miraculous years ago. Did Maître Fu leave the empty box here? But no—Adrien can feel _something _coming from that box, magical and powerful. It’s not empty.

There’s something odd about the fact that a Miraculous box could instill so much dread in Adrien. Hadn’t he just been wishing he could go back to being Chat Noir? Then again, there’s already a Chat Noir fighting the akuma. Whatever is in this box, it’s not Adrien’s old Miraculous.

Holding his breath, Adrien slowly lifts the lid of the box.

“Hello, Adrien,” Tikki says, hovering above the coffee table.

Adrien stares in shock at the gray earrings sitting in the box. No, this can’t be happening. It’s not possible.

Whenever he fantasized about getting his Miraculous back, he never considered _this_—never considered that Maître Fu would select him to wield the Ladybug Miraculous. Why would he? Adrien embodies destruction. He can’t bring life or luck to Paris. He can barely bring himself to get out of bed some days.

“Breathe, Adrien,” Tikki says. “I understand this is—”

“Is this a joke?” Adrien bursts out. “T-tell me this is a joke, Tikki.”

“It’s not,” Tikki says. “You’ve been chosen to wield the Miraculous of Creation.”

“I don’t understand,” Adrien says. “Maître Fu said that I couldn’t…”

Tikki flies over to rest on Adrien’s arm, smiling. “He said you couldn’t be Chat Noir anymore.”

“But I _can _be Ladybug?” Adrien asks. He laughs, though it comes out like a sob. “No, I can’t. I’ll mess up. I’ll let my partner down again.”

“You never let Marinette down,” Tikki says.

The name sends a fresh wave of sorrow through Adrien. He squeezes his eyes shut and bows his head, teeth gritted. He’d thought he was getting better—thought he was closer to healing—but he’s still so fragile, so _scared. _And now Paris is under attack, and Adrien can’t bring himself to do something, and he’s going to fail everyone, just like he failed Marinette.

After a minute, Adrien collects himself enough to say, “I don’t think I can do it, Tikki. I’m not a good fit for your Miraculous.”

“But you are,” Tikki says. Her voice is so calm, so reassuring, that Adrien almost believes her. “The Guardian told you that the Ladybug and Cat balance each other, remember?”

Adrien nods. “Yeah. But…”

“You’re the creation to the new Chat Noir’s destruction,” Tikki says. “The yin to their yang. Does that make sense?”

Adrien wonders if abandoning school for so long has made his brain slow, because he finds himself shaking his head. “I thought I was destruction.”

“Only when Marinette wielded the power of creation,” Tikki says. “The type of superhero you are depends on the type of partner you have.”

“So with a different partner, I’m a different kind of hero?” Adrien asks, and Tikki nods. “I don’t know about that, Tikki. I don’t feel like I can do this.” He gently closes the lid of the Miraculous box. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could help, but…but I think you can find someone better.”

“Who?” Tikki asks, and for the first time, there’s a bit of an edge to her sweet voice. It cuts like a butter knife. “Who else would carry on Marinette’s legacy, Adrien?”

“I—I don’t know. Plenty of people?”

“No,” Tikki says. “You’re the only one. No one else will try as hard as you, Adrien. We looked.”

Adrien stares at her, eyes wide. No one else in Paris is better-suited to be Ladybug? No one could do better than the partner who failed to protect her?

“It…wasn’t my fault,” Adrien says, though it comes out as a question. “That she died? Do you hold it against me, Tikki?”

“As the kwami of creation, I don’t hold grudges,” Tikki says. “Those cause destruction. But no, Adrien. It’s only Papillon’s fault.” She darts over to the Miraculous box and nudges it forward. “So, will you do it? Will you accept my Miraculous?”

The word _no_ sits on Adrien’s lips, ready to be spoken. He doesn’t feel like he can do this, and if he’s being honest, he’s a little terrified to face Papillon again. But Marinette…Marinette would want him to defend Paris. She wouldn’t want him to sit on his couch and mope. Neither would Luka and the others.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, Adrien knows that he doesn’t want that for himself, either.

“Yeah,” Adrien says. He flips open the Miraculous box and removes the two gray studs. “Yeah, I—uh.”

“Adrien?” Tikki says.

“Tikki,” Adrien says. “These aren’t clip-ons.”

“No,” Tikki says. “Is that a problem?”

Adrien laughs. “My ears aren’t pierced.”

Tikki flies up to Adrien’s face and nuzzles against his cheek. “Don’t worry. I can make it so that the earrings go in.”

“Isn’t that going to hurt?”

“I’m the kwami of creation!” Tikki says. “It won’t hurt.”

Adrien’s not so sure how well that line of reasoning holds up—after all, giving birth is supposed to be horribly painful—but he doesn’t have time to argue when Paris is under attack. “Okay,” he says, picking up an earring and slipping off the back. “Here goes.”

The moment the earring touches his ear, a sharp burning pain courses through the spot, and Adrien very nearly drops the Miraculous. The post of the earring pokes through his earlobe and comes out the other side smoothly enough, but even once it’s through, it still feels like a swarm of angry wasps are stinging his ear over and over again.

Adrien clutches his ear, hissing in pain. “Tikki! What the hell?”

Tikki tilts her head to the side. “What? Did that…did that hurt?”

“Yes!” Adrien snaps. “Yes, it—oh, merde. Is my ear falling off? I think my ear is falling off.”

“But…I’m the kwami of creation,” Tikki repeats.

“Then why does it feel like you just destroyed my ear?”

“I’m sorry,” Tikki says. “I haven’t had to do that in a couple hundred years. I guess I’m out of practice.”

Adrien secures the back of the earring, then stares in horror at the remaining one. “Do…do I have to do that again?”

Tikki nods, looking guilty. “You have to wear both earrings to transform.”

“Are you sure?” Adrien says, eyeing the earring. “Maybe we can just go with the one?”

“I’m afraid that won’t work.”

Adrien swallows and tentatively picks up the other earring. “I’m doing this for Paris,” he mutters, as he brings the earring to his ear. “I’m doing this for my friends. I’m doing this for—oh, mon dieu.” He squeezes his eyes shut as pain radiates through both ears. “Couldn’t Maître Fu pick someone who already had their ears pierced?”

“At least it’s over now,” Tikki says. “I really am sorry about that.”

Adrien touches his ears, feeling the smooth metal of the earrings underneath his fingers. They offer a strange sort of comfort—Marinette wore these earrings, and now Adrien’s wearing them as her successor. It connects them in a way, even with death as a divide.

He lowers his hands and gags when he sees red on them. “Tikki. Is that…”

“Are you ready to transform?” Tikki asks.

“Tikki, I am _bleeding.”_

“But Paris is in trouble!”

Adrien sighs. She’s right—he has a job to do.

“Tikki,” he says, “transforme-moi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, like I said—slight deviation from canon if you’ve seen Reflekdoll. See, I wrote this before that episode came out in French, and back then, the only reference I had for Marinette’s earrings was from an old episode where she’s holding them in her hands, and it looks like they’re normal earrings, not clip-ons. But, well…apparently they can be clip-ons. Who knew? 
> 
> And yes, this fic does have some light-hearted moments! It’s not _completely_ depressing. That said, Adrien is definitely still struggling, and that’s not going to stop just because he’s Ladybug now.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sneakily bumps chapter count up to 9*
> 
> **Chapter warnings:** Panic attack(s), canon-typical violence

Adrien quickly realizes that while a few months isn’t that long, he’s definitely out of practice. Once, it was easy to soar through the air and land in a crouch on a rooftop. Now, that seems like an impossible task—and worse, he has a yo-yo instead of his baton, which makes for an entirely different experience.

And so he slams into the side of a building and plummets to the ground, falling, falling, falling—until a sturdy pair of arms catches him and holds him close.

“There you are,” a voice says.

Adrien looks up into bright blue eyes. It’s surreal, seeing someone else with cat sclerae. He awkwardly clambers out of the stranger’s arms. “Sorry,” he says. “We had a mishap.”

“Are you bleeding?”

“Unfortunately,” Adrien says. “Impromptu ear piercing.”

“I’m sorry,” the stranger says, and Adrien finally pauses to look at them.

Pale skin, freckles, blue eyes and blue-black hair—is the universe trying to mock him? Because it’s not his lady, no. For one thing, Adrien’s pretty sure it’s a man. But the similarities are uncanny. It’s almost her.

The longer he stares, though, the more differences he picks out. The stranger’s eyes are a different shade of blue, closer to aqua, and their hair is blacker—only the tips are frosted blue. Their freckles are more pronounced. And this person’s smile is smaller, more reserved than Ladybug’s. For some reason, Adrien latches onto that smile. It makes him calmer instantly, quiets the roaring in his ears.

“Are you alright?” the stranger asks.

“Yeah,” Adrien says.

But that’s a lie, because as Adrien stares at the person in front of him, a bizarre feeling worms its way through his heart. It sings in his bones, thrumming like a silent gong, telling him that this person is his partner, his soulmate, his other half.

And that’s too much. Adrien was prepared to save Paris from an akuma. He wasn’t prepared to have Ladybug ripped out and replaced in a single moment. It feels like surgery without anesthesia, and it leaves him dizzy and vaguely nauseated.

“You don’t look okay,” his new partner says. “Do you need a moment?”

Someone screams in the distance, and Adrien’s head snaps to face that direction. “I don’t think we have a moment.”

“I guess not.”

“So,” Adrien says. He toys with the string of his yo-yo, trying not to get it tangled around his fingers. “What should I call you?”

“Oh. I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Just Chat Noir, then?”

“Isn’t that plagiarism?”

“I don’t mind,” Adrien says, then catches himself. “And I doubt anyone else will, either. It’s like in comic books, where the title gets passed on, right?”

Chat Noir shrugs. “If you say so. Does that make you Ladybug?”

Adrien swallows. He can almost handle fighting with Marinette’s Miraculous, but taking her superhero name? He’s not ready for that. He doesn’t know how to explain that without revealing too much, though, so he just nods. “Sure.”

“Well, then, bug,” Chat Noir says. “What’s the plan?”

Right. Now Adrien is the one who’s responsible for planning and strategizing. He hopes that Tikki is right about his newfound talent for creation—because if she’s _wrong_, then Adrien’s going to fail, and Paris is in trouble.

He’s still not used to creating. Until he’d composed that song with Luka, he’d never really made anything before. He’d only ever worked with other people’s creations, other people’s orders. Ladybug was the one who invented Lucky Charm solutions and put together plans; Marinette was the one who created amazing designs and baked sweet desserts. Adrien, though…Adrien doesn’t know how to do any of that.

He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “What’s the akuma, exactly? I only caught a bit on the news.”

“It’s brutal, compared to the old ones,” Chat Noir says. “Hold on.” He pulls out his baton and begins searching for something on it.

While Chat Noir does that, Adrien takes a moment to survey his new partner’s costume. Like Adrien once did, this Chat Noir wears black cat ears and a tail belt. Also like Adrien, he seems to have an affinity for black leather, since his costume is made of a similar material. The similarities end there, though. The top of Chat Noir’s suit resembles a skintight bomber jacket, tapering down into tight pants that are laced up the sides. His boots almost reach his knees, and around his neck is a black choker with a buckle.

Adrien has to give him points for that. Not many people could pull off a cat collar.

“Here,” Chat Noir says, turning his baton screen to Adrien. “Papillon doesn’t have much mercy these days.”

“Did he ever?” Adrien mutters, squinting at the screen. The akuma is human in shape, draped in black fabric with a hood pulled over its face. It hovers in the air, its clothes rippling in ragged tendrils around it. Adrien swallows. “It looks like the Grim Reaper.”

Chat Noir nods. “Yeah. Pleasant, right?”

Adrien watches as the akuma extends its arm toward a civilian. Chains that are tethered to its right wrist wrap around the person and slam them against a building wall, pinning them in place. Then the akuma gestures to the ground with its other hand, and some sort of black material spreads across the street below.

“What’s that?” Adrien asks.

“Quicksand,” Chat Noir says. “Just…keep watching.”

The akuma uses its left hand to launch chains at another civilian, suspending them midair, and then turns to the person pinned against the wall. They have some sort of exchange, though the video’s audio doesn’t catch it.

“It’s taunting them,” Chat Noir mutters. “Like a cat playing with its food before…”

Adrien watches as the akuma flings the second civilian toward the quicksand. The audio _does _capture their scream—which is cut off the moment they hit the sand. Within seconds, they’re submerged. The akuma nods, then floats away to find another victim, withdrawing its chains from the first person as it leaves.

The civilian plummets to the ground, screaming and flailing. At the last second, though, Chat Noir leaps into the frame and catches the person. He lands on a nearby roof and sets them down, then jumps away just as quickly.

For a moment, Adrien just stares at the baton, struggling to breathe. This isn’t a normal akuma. This is worse than anything he and Ladybug ever faced.

“Hey,” Chat Noir says softly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Adrien lies. “So. Any ideas about its akumatized object?”

“Sort of.” Chat Noir fiddles with his baton, then pulls up an enhanced image. “See its right wrist, where the chains are attached? It’s wearing a bracelet of some sort.”

“It looks like a charm bracelet.” Adrien reaches over and zooms in on the photo. “And look—is one of the charms missing?”

Chat Noir squints at the image. “Good catch. You think the akuma’s there?”

“Yeah. Hold on.” Adrien taps Chat Noir’s wrist. “Replay the clip where she attacks those people.”

“Sure,” Chat Noir says, rewinding the video. “This is…unpleasant.”

“I know,” Adrien says. Chat Noir is right, after all. This akuma is more brutal than Papillon’s past creations. Adrien had thought Papillon’s murder of Ladybug would soften him, but apparently it just made his heart harder and crueler.

Will Papillon kill again, now that he’s done it before? No, Adrien can’t think about that. He has to focus on the battle.

“Hey,” Chat Noir says. He rests a gloved hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Adrien points at the video on the baton. “See how the akuma doesn’t use its right hand?”

Chat Noir nods. “So you think it’s holding the akumatized object?”

“Seems possible,” Adrien says. Then again, he’s not sure. Ladybug had usually been the one to figure out where the akumas were hiding. That had been her job, not his. What if he’s wrong? What if he’s bad at this?

“That’s a throwback,” Chat Noir says. “Wasn’t Papillon’s first akuma holding his object, too?”

Adrien knows Chat Noir’s comment is innocent, but it feels like he’s just driven a knife through Adrien’s heart. Everything about this is too familiar—and yet, it’s too different, because Marinette’s not here, and this is one of those days where reality feels more like a dream. A horrible, painful dream.

“R-right,” Adrien says. “Yeah, he was.”

“So how do we get the akuma?”

“I…I don’t know.”

Panic roars in Adrien’s head. He can’t think of anything. His job as Chat Noir was always to _not _think. He’s used to acting on instinct, and nothing about being Ladybug is instinctual. It’s strange enough wearing the earrings, the red-and-black suit, being armed with a yo-yo—and then on top of that, he has to take a completely different approach to fighting akumas? This is too much. It’s all too much.

He starts gasping, heart pounding as dizziness clouds his brain. His fists clench and he shuts his eyes, willing back tears. No, no. This is humiliating. Not in front of his new partner. He can’t look weak in front of him.

A gentle hand grabs his arm. “Hey, it’s okay. Breathe.”

Adrien immediately relaxes under Chat Noir’s touch; there’s something so soothing and familiar about his voice. Chat Noir begins counting breaths—in, two, three, four, out—and Adrien finds himself following along, lulled by the sound of his voice. Within seconds, he feels like he can breathe again.

“I—I’m sorry,” Adrien says, opening his eyes. “I know it’s my job to think of an answer. I just…”

“It’s _our _job,” Chat Noir corrects. “And it’s also our first day. Neither one of us is an expert, so don’t be too hard on yourself.”

_But I did this before, _Adrien wants to say. _I used to have a Miraculous. I should be an expert._

“Okay,” Chat Noir murmurs, almost like he’s talking to himself. “How about I distract the akuma, and you try to think of something?”

Adrien nods shakily. “I can do that.”

Chat Noir nods, then bounds away to face the akuma.

Adrien stands alone for a moment, still trying to focus on his breathing. He doesn’t feel like he can do this. Marinette isn’t here to tell him what to do. His partner is off fighting an akuma by himself. Luka is missing, maybe safe, maybe not. And Nino and Alya are chasing the akuma, trying to get footage so that the rest of Paris doesn’t have to. Adrien’s alone, and he could lose everyone he loves if he doesn’t do something.

Maybe before, that thought would have spurred Adrien to action. Now, it just makes dread settle in his stomach, like dregs in a cold cup of coffee.

After Chat Noir has been gone for about a minute, a thin black substance begins creeping across the ground toward Adrien. It takes his mind a second to register what it is, and then it hits him: the akuma’s quicksand.

He fumbles with his yo-yo and throws it at the nearest building, clinging tightly to the string as he’s launched into the air.

Somehow, he lands on his feet this time. Crouching on a rooftop, Adrien scans the overcast landscape for Chat Noir and the akuma. It almost feels like the sky is holding onto its rain, waiting for something to happen before it drenches the city below.

After a moment, Adrien spots the battle. The akuma is floating by Le Grand Paris two blocks away, cracking its chains at Chat Noir like whips. Chat Noir leaps and flips out of the way, and his agility makes Adrien feel clumsy and incompetent in comparison. There’s an ease to his movements that Adrien can’t seem to grasp as Ladybug. He knows it’s his first day, and that there’s room to improve if he sticks with this—but he used to move like that. He used to jump and twirl without a care in the world.

Now it feels like there are weights tied to his feet, dragging his every move slightly off-course.

As Adrien moves closer, one of the chains almost wraps around Chat Noir’s tail. Almost like it has a mind of its own, Adrien’s yo-yo shoots out and knocks the chain aside. Chat Noir lands on a rooftop unscathed, then signals his thanks to Adrien before rolling out of the way.

Adrien retracts the yo-yo and stares at it. “Well,” he says. “Let’s see what else you can do.”

He grips it awkwardly in his hand. Does he yell _Lucky Charm? _ No matter how he says it, it will just feel like a bad imitation of Marinette’s voice.

With a faint smile, he recalls the time she lost her voice against Silencer—how Chat Noir sat on a rooftop and mimicked her, singing out _Lucky Charm _as she pretended to be annoyed.

“Oh, Marinette,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.”

He’s not a good fit for Ladybug, he knows that. But if he doesn’t do something…

Adrien swallows, glancing up to watch as the new Chat Noir dodges the akuma. Whoever this person is, he’s depending on Adrien to have his back. For some reason, he thinks Adrien can do this. That’s a little naïve, but Adrien supposes he appreciates the vote of confidence.

He thinks back to what Tikki said before he transformed: that no one else would try as hard as him to live up to Marinette’s legacy. He’s not sure that’s good enough, but maybe there’s some truth to her words. He should at least _try_.

“Okay,” Adrien mutters. With a deep breath, he swings the yo-yo upwards and calls, “Lucky Charm!”

He catches the charm and nearly buckles under its weight.

Adrien stares at the object in confusion. A medicine ball? What is he supposed to do with a ridiculously heavy medicine ball?

He glances around wildly, but contrary to popular belief, there’s no magic Ladybug vision telling him what to do. Everything is confusing, overwhelming—there are so many things around him, and so few solutions, and he’s running out of time.

Adrien’s chest heaves, and he struggles to remain calm. He _doesn’t create. _That’s not his talent. He only managed to compose that song because Luka held his hand the entire time. Luka was the one who scrutinized the piece, determined which parts needed to go, and eliminated those distractions. Without Luka, Adrien can’t focus on what really matters.

“Ladybug!” Chat Noir shouts. “Avoid the chains!”

It takes Adrien’s brain a moment too long to realize that _he’s _Ladybug. Suddenly, the akuma’s chains are writhing toward him, and he stands rooted to the spot, hands clutching the medicine ball. At the last second, Chat Noir drops in front of him. The chains collide with his body, wrapping around him and slamming him onto his stomach.

“I’m sorry,” Adrien says. “I’m not used to that name.”

“Right,” Chat Noir says, squirming to break free. “It’s going to take some adjusting.”

Adrien sets down the medicine ball and kneels, dragging Chat Noir toward himself. “Merde. How do I—”

“Move!” Chat Noir shouts. He rolls out of the way, and Adrien springs back as the akuma’s second chain snaps toward him.

Adrien jumps to his feet just in time to see the akuma pulled slightly off-balance by Chat Noir’s movements. It almost looks like a person struggling to hold its dog on a leash.

“Hey,” Adrien says, voice shaking slightly. He crouches and picks up the medicine ball. “Why don’t you let him go?”

As the akuma drifts closer, Adrien’s mind races to compile what he knows about it. It’s light—its chains are strong, but the akuma itself is waiflike, easily knocked off-balance. And it can’t completely control its chains; they automatically wrap around anything that intercepts their path.

There’s something there, an answer. Adrien can feel it like a word on the tip of his tongue. In the heat of battle, though, he can’t seem to grasp it.

“Oh?” the akuma rasps, floating overhead. Adrien wonders if he could throw the medicine ball at the akuma, knock it out of the sky like a clay pigeon—then again, the akuma might not even be corporeal. “Would you prefer if I give your partner the quicksand treatment first?”

Adrien’s entire body jerks, a loud _no _ringing through his brain. “Never,” he snarls. “I’m not losing ano—I’m not losing my partner.”

“The last superhero lost his,” the akuma taunts. “I’ll rip you two apart the same way.”

The akuma can’t possibly know how violently its words affect Adrien, but oh, they do. He takes a step back, legs shaking. “No,” he murmurs. “No, I…I won’t let you.”

“You don’t sound so sure,” the akuma says.

Adrien glances helplessly at Chat Noir, expecting distrust or disappointment. Instead, though, Chat Noir meets his eyes and offers him a reassuring smile. “You won’t,” he says. “I can feel it.”

Familiarity courses through Adrien’s veins like a drug. It’s strange—ineffable, really—but he suddenly feels like he can keep going a little longer. He turns to the akuma with newfound focus.

“I won’t,” Adrien says. “I might just be a bug, but you don’t stand a chance. You’re obviously at the bottom of _la chaîne alimentaire._” He cringes. Food chain? Not his best pun. “But, well, to each their own. If you want to lose so badly, I’m not going to stop you.”

He can’t see the akuma’s face, but he’s pretty sure it sneers at him. “How juvenile. I’m _Mournisseur_, little bug. I provide death to those who take life for granted. I’ll show you what loss feels like.”

“I already know,” Adrien snaps. “You think I haven’t lost someone? You think you’ve cornered the market?” His throat tightens, and his fingers dig into the medicine ball, anchoring him. “Papillon, I know you hear me, so hear me when I say this: I won’t let you or your akumas bring any more death to Paris. As long as I’m still breathing, you’ll never win.”

The akuma tilts its head to the side, as if listening to something. Then it hisses out a laugh. “In that case, insect, Papillon and I look forward to your demise.”

It extends its right arm toward Adrien and launches its chains at him. Adrien steps back, swinging his yo-yo in a circle to form a shield. “Chat Noir!” he says. “Cataclysm the chain.”

“On it,” Chat Noir says. He wriggles his pinned arms and mutters something Adrien can’t hear; a moment later, the chains rust and disintegrate. Now free, Chat Noir leaps to his feet, holding his staff in a fighting position. “So what’s the plan?”

“I’m still working on it,” Adrien says. “Can you buy me another minute?”

“Sure,” Chat Noir says. He braces his staff against the rooftop and propels himself into the air, dodging another lash of the akuma’s chains.

Still clinging to the medicine ball, Adrien retreats and takes stock of the situation. He knows that Mournisseur is light—even tied up, Chat Noir’s wriggling had tugged it off-balance—and he knows that its chains have a mind of their own, wrapping around whatever falls in their path. That’s two weaknesses, if he can figure out how to exploit them. Then there’s the matter of the akumatized object, which is most likely clutched in Mournisseur’s right hand. Somehow, Adrien needs that hand to open.

With the ball in one arm, he throws his yo-yo and swings toward the action. A second later, something heavy slams into him, then slides down his body and clings to his legs. Caught off-guard, Adrien yelps and almost lets go of the yo-yo string.

He doesn’t, though. Somehow, he manages to swing himself and his hitchhiker onto a nearby roof. They land tangled together and quickly jump to their feet.

“Sorry,” Chat Noir says. “I fell and grabbed you without thinking.”

“It’s fine,” Adrien says. He’d adjusted for the medicine ball’s weight, but not for seventy kilograms of cat. “I’m sorry, too. I almost let go of the yo-yo.”

“Am I that heavy?” Chat Noir jokes.

“No, but the weight was unanticipated.” Adrien pauses. “Hold on. Unanticipated weight.”

“Sounds like a lame band name,” Chat Noir says, scanning the sky. “What about it?”

“Listen,” Adrien says. “We need the akuma to open its hand, right? So let’s do the same thing to it that you just did to me.”

“Okay,” Chat Noir says. “What do you need me to do?”

Adrien glances around for the akuma, then says, “When I was swinging, I knew I had to manage the weight of the medicine ball, so I held my body accordingly.”

“Right.”

“If I had just been carrying you, I would have done the same thing. I'd know I was dealing with a person’s weight, so I’d hold you a certain way.”

Chat Noir nods again. “So…”

“If I just throw the medicine ball at Mournisseur’s chains, it will be expecting the ball’s weight. That’s also the case if the chains catch one of us. But say the chains wrap around the medicine ball…and then we suddenly add sixty or seventy kilograms more…”

“This sounds like a physics problem,” Chat Noir says.

“It kind of is,” Adrien says, “but I’ll spare you the math. Basically, the extra weight will yank the akuma’s wrist downward, and hopefully it will let go of the akumatized object when that happens.”

“I trust you,” Chat Noir says. “So you’ll throw the medicine ball to the akuma, and then I’ll jump down and grab the ball?”

Suddenly, Adrien’s confidence in his plan evaporates. He’d been so proud of it five seconds ago—but if Chat Noir grabs the ball and freefalls, and there’s quicksand below—

“No,” Adrien says. “I’ll do the jumping. You throw the ball.”

“But what if you get caught in the quicksand?”

“That’s why I don’t want you to do it.”

“Ladybug,” Chat Noir says, his voice surprisingly gentle. “You need to stick around to purify the akuma. If the quicksand gets you, how will we win?”

Adrien freezes. No, no, no. He doesn’t want to risk his partner’s life. Distantly, he knows it’s part of Chat Noir’s job—to take the fall for Ladybug—but he doesn’t want it to be _this _Chat Noir’s job. He can’t watch his partner sacrifice himself.

“I…”

“Ladybug,” Chat Noir says. “It’s okay. I’ll jump. And if we’re quick enough, I might not even hit the ground.” He clasps Adrien’s shoulders, blue eyes boring into his. “But if we’re _not _quick enough, you need to finish the job. Right?”

“Right,” Adrien whispers.

“There you are!” a voice rasps. Mournisseur hovers overhead, right arm dangling its chain. “Who will my chains catch, I wonder?”

Chat Noir leaps away, leaving Adrien to face the akuma. Adrien swings his yo-yo in small circles, taunting the akuma as he walks to the edge of the roof. “Are you fast enough to catch me?” he asks. Then he wraps the yo-yo around his wrist and holds the medicine ball in front of him, waiting for the akuma to strike. “Or do you prefer things slow and painful?”

“Death has many breeds,” Mournisseur says, “and I promise yours will be excruciating.”

Its chains speed toward Adrien, and he throws the medicine ball straight toward them, hoping he hasn’t miscalculated. Instantly, the chains wrap around the ball and pull taut, suspending it midair.

Lightning fast, Chat Noir drops down from the sky and grabs onto the medicine ball. His weight jerks the akuma’s arm downward, and then Adrien sees it—a tiny glimmer of light leaving the akuma’s hand, something small and sparkly.

As Chat Noir and the akuma plummet to the quicksand below, Adrien throws his yo-yo and nabs the charm from the sky. Then he tosses his yo-yo to a nearby spire and throws himself from the roof, holding his breath as he swings towards Chat Noir’s quickly descending form.

Chat Noir lets go of the ball and extends his staff below himself, using it to propel himself into the air. The quicksand instantly swallows the staff, and moments later, Chat Noir is falling down, down—

Adrien grabs onto Chat Noir and holds him close, careening toward the church spire that his yo-yo is tethered to. The two of them slam into the tower, then tumble onto the rooftop below in a heap.

For a moment, Adrien lies on his stomach, chest heaving, eyes stinging. So close. _Too _close. Chat Noir groans below him, his breaths similarly ragged.

“Did…” Chat Noir coughs. “Did the akuma get sucked into the quicksand?”

“I don’t care,” Adrien mutters, trembling. He vaguely notices that he’s clinging to Chat Noir. “I—I’m not looking.”

“Me neither,” Chat Noir says.

“Are you always going to risk your life like that?” Adrien says. “Because if that’s the case, I don’t think I can…”

“Hey,” Chat Noir says. Hesitantly, he reaches up and pats Adrien’s head, smoothing his hair down. “Don’t worry. It will get easier. Most things do.”

Adrien wonders if that could apply to grieving and loss, too. He’s not sure it does. Even months after Marinette’s death, there are still times where the pain feels fresh and raw.

After clinging to Chat Noir for a few more seconds, Adrien rolls off him and pushes himself to his feet. Then he retrieves the akumatized charm from the yo-yo and holds it up. “Now, that’s what we call an _unlucky _charm,” he mutters.

Chat Noir snorts from where he’s lying on the ground. “I’ll say.”

Adrien drops the charm onto the ground, then swings the yo-yo and slams it against the tiny object. It cracks against the rooftop, releasing a violet butterfly into the air.

Hesitant, Adrien glances at Chat Noir. “Well…here goes, I guess.” Without his Lucky Charm, Adrien only has the yo-yo, so he swings it into the air and whispers, “Miraculous Ladybug.”

Instantly, light and ladybugs spiral from the yo-yo, circling Paris and restoring it. Quicksand evaporates from the streets, and people reappear on the sidewalks, safe and unharmed. Adrien watches, eyes stinging, as every inch of Paris is stitched back together again. Using this power, he feels like he’s carrying part of Marinette with him—but he also feels like he stole that part. Like he doesn’t deserve it.

The ladybugs swirl in front of Adrien, and then the akuma victim is kneeling in front of him, tear tracks on her face.

“I—I’m sorry,” she chokes out. Adrien stands, frozen, not sure what to do or say. “My sister _died_—a few months ago—the—the…” Her voice wavers on the last word, and she trails off, tears pooling in her eyes.

“It’s okay,” Chat Noir says. He kneels next to her, a hand on her shoulder. It’s strange for Adrien to see, when he used to be the one to comfort akuma victims. He feels so useless right now. He doesn’t know how to be a good Ladybug. “You can speak when you’re ready.”

The girl nods, taking a few seconds to compose herself. Then she says, “My sister died the same week as Ladybug. I—I mean, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

That name sends a sharp, hot pain through Adrien’s lungs. He closes his eyes and swallows back a sob. The shock of it all is wearing off, and now grief and exhaustion are beginning to set in.

“I’m sorry,” Chat Noir murmurs.

“And no one cared about my sister, because she wasn’t a hero,” the girl continues. “Some of my extended family who were in town, they—they went to Ladybug’s funeral instead. And even my parents rushed my sister’s funeral so that they could make it.” When Adrien reopens his eyes, he sees that the girl is clenching her fists in her lap, staring down at them. “She was yanked away so quickly, and then everyone moved on. I never got to _mourn, _because then Ladybug died, and all anyone talked about was Ladybug.”

Adrien feels bile rising in his throat. He knows the feeling all too well—one minute, he and his partner had been fighting a battle together, and the next, she was gone. He remembers that full-body whiplash; he was twisted one way, snapped back the other, and something’s been wrong ever since.

“I feel awful for Ladybug,” the girl says. “I know she had friends and family, too. But I felt so alone. Like I was the only one still grieving. And I—I was trapped. Drowning.”

A droplet of rain hits Adrien’s face, wetting his cheek. “Sinking in quicksand,” he murmurs. Speaking louder, he says, “I…I understand. Really. I lost someone dear to me around the same time. It felt like everyone moved on faster than me, and I was stuck.” He crouches in front of her, doing his best to keep his voice steady. “I still feel stuck, some days.”

Another drop of rain hits Adrien’s face, and then another, and another, until a steady stream of rain pours from the sky. It chills his cheeks, clings to his eyelashes, sticks to his hair.

Finally, the girl looks up—and when her wide eyes meet Adrien’s, he almost falters. He’s not sure he has the right words. He’s not sure anyone ever has the right words. But he has to try.

“It might seem like you’re the only one grieving,” Adrien says, “but you’re not. You need to let other people help you. You—you can’t shut them out.” He presses his lips together and swallows. “I did, and I don’t know what would have happened if my loved ones hadn’t brought me back.”

“But they abandoned her,” the girl says. “They forgot about her.”

“They didn’t,” Adrien says. “Their grief is just different than yours.” His voice cracks, and it’s wavering slightly, but he knows he needs to keep going. He takes the girl’s hands in his and grips them tightly, blinking rain from his eyes. “When it’s raining and raining, it…it’s easy to feel like you’re drowning. But you’re not. You can’t swim or drown in the rain. Do you…do you understand what I’m saying?”

The girl shakes her head. “Not really.”

Adrien pauses, chewing his lip. He glances at Chat Noir for help, but all his partner does is smile gently and nod.

“Okay,” Adrien says. “What I mean is, sometimes, suffering seems like the best way to grieve.”

Adrien thinks back to those first few days of grieving: how he’d barely slept, cried until he was sick, stopped eating to the point that he almost starved. At the time, it made sense. It seemed logical that he should physically suffer in order to grieve; it wasn’t until Luka appeared that Adrien realized how badly he was hurting himself.

“So, you…you kick, and you flail your arms,” Adrien says, “and you hold your breath until it hurts, because you feel like you should be drowning. It feels like the right thing to do.”

Hesitantly, the girl nods. “I think I know what you mean.”

“But it’s not the right thing,” Adrien says. “Because flailing and holding your breath in the rain—that doesn’t do any good. None of that will get you out of the rain.”

It’s a mystery, wherever these words are coming from, but Adrien thinks they might be coming from the same place as his song: that tiny part of him that knows how to create. He wonders when he learned how to do that. He wonders whether his words are doing any good.

“Then what do I do?” the girl challenges. “How do I stop drowning?”

“Ah, but remember?” Adrien says. “You can’t drown in the rain.” He frowns. “Well, technically you could, if you fell in a ditch—”

“Ladybug,” Chat Noir says.

Adrien grimaces. “Sorry. What you do is, well…you keep moving. You go up to those people you love, and you walk alongside them, and you try to get out of the rain. And it might take a while, but—but eventually you’ll get there, I promise.”

He presses his lips together, glad that the rain masks the tears in his eyes. Because oh, Adrien wishes he believed that last part of what he said. He wishes he had faith that he won’t feel like he’s drowning for the rest of his life. But some days, it still feels like a torrential downpour is flooding his lungs, and he has no idea how far he’ll have to walk to finally escape it.

Maybe, though, he can help this girl do what he can’t. That’s what matters, isn’t it? Ladybug has to save Paris’s citizens, even if he can’t do anything for himself.

The girl sniffs, wrinkling her nose as water streams down her face. “Rain sucks. I hate the rain.”

Adrien laughs. “Well, your clothes aren’t waterproof like ours,” he says. “That might be part of it.”

“Why don’t we get you down from here?” Chat Noir asks the girl, holding out his hand. “I’m sure your family is looking for you.”

Nodding, the girl accepts his hand and shakily gets to her feet. Chat Noir detaches his baton from his back, then scoops the girl up into his arms and leaps to the ground below.

For a moment, Adrien stands on the rooftop by himself, feeling the chill of the rain and the misty air. He’s never felt this loved and supported. He’s also never felt this lost and confused.

He has friends, teachers and mentors, a new partner—but none of them can teach him how to do _this. _No one can instruct Adrien on how to be a good Ladybug, or how to do Marinette’s memory justice. The only person who really could have taught him is Marinette, and she’s gone.

Realizing he’s been standing on the roof too long, Adrien swings down to the ground to join Chat Noir and the growing crowd around the girl. He stumbles upon landing, but Chat Noir’s hands steady him immediately.

Chat Noir smiles, his bright blue eyes peering down at Adrien. “It must be weird to travel by yo-yo.”

“You have no idea,” Adrien grumbles. He watches as a few adults—presumably the girl’s family—hug her, kiss her forehead, babble on and on about how worried they were. “Do you think she’ll be okay?”

“Yeah. I do.” Chat Noir clasps Adrien’s shoulder. “Your speech was beautiful, by the way. I think it was exactly what she needed to hear.”

Adrien sighs, relieved. “That’s good. I…I wasn’t sure what to say. I just told her what I learned from experience. I guess it worked.” He offers Chat Noir a small smile. “And I—I couldn’t have done it without you. Really. So…merci.”

“The speech?” Chat Noir says, brow furrowed.

With a shrug, Adrien says, “That’s how it feels. I don’t know why, or what you did. But thank you.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Chat Noir says, “I know we just became partners, but if you ever need to talk about what you’re going through, I’ll be there. I know you said you have loved ones helping you, but…”

Adrien nods. “Same for you. Whatever it is, I’ve got your back.”

A strange feeling surges through him, then: the urge to wrap Chat Noir in a tight hug and hold him close for as long as he can. It’s odd. Adrien doesn’t know if it’s the pull of yin and yang, or the intensity of the moment, but he doesn’t want to see Chat Noir walk away.

Before he can think any more about that, a familiar face pushes its way to the front of the crowd. “Hey!” Alya calls. To the untrained eye, she looks as exuberant as ever—if Adrien didn’t know her so well, he wouldn’t notice that she’s more subdued than usual. “Thank you so much, you two. Can I get some names for the blog? Superhero names, of course.”

Adrien glances at Chat Noir. “Um…”

“We’re kind of just going with Ladybug and Chat Noir,” Chat Noir says.

“Mm, derivative. I like it.” Alya taps her phone to her lips. “Do you mind if I get a quick interview? I know you two must be tired, but Paris will want to hear from you.”

Suddenly, Adrien realizes how exhausted he is. He’s not sure he can answer one question, let alone five or ten. His entire body feels like it’s about to collapse.

“Another time,” Chat Noir says, as if he’s read Adrien’s mind. “We’ll call you.”

Adrien nods in agreement. “I promise, though, we’re here to stay. You can tell Paris that much.”

“Sounds good.” Alya flashes them a thumbs-up. Beside her, Nino smiles. “I’ll see you two around, then.”

“Hopefully not too often,” Adrien says.

“Right,” Alya says. “I’ll let you guys go now.”

But the rest of the gathering crowd doesn’t let them go. Chattering people begin to close in on Adrien and Chat Noir from all sides, some waving cameras, phones, reaching toward them. Suddenly, Adrien’s entire body is rigid. He can’t move. Static roars in his mind, and he begins to sway slightly. His mouth feels tacky with bile.

He barely registers the arm wrapping around his side, or the _whoosh _of air as he’s propelled into the sky. Seconds pass like hours, and when Adrien’s mind clears, he’s sitting on a sofa on a rooftop deck with Chat Noir crouching beside him.

“Are you alright?” Chat Noir asks.

It takes Adrien a few moments to form words. “Y-yeah. I just got a little overwhelmed. It’s all hitting me at once now.”

Chat Noir nods. “I understand. I—” He breaks off as both their Miraculouses beep shrilly, warning them that they have seconds left before they detransform. “I have to go, I guess.” He gives a small wave. “Take care, bug.” 

Adrien only manages a nod, and it’s not until Chat Noir has leapt away that he finally murmurs, “See you around, Chat Noir.”

He drags himself to his feet and swings back to his house, trying to keep his eyes from drooping shut as he does. He ends up tumbling through his window, too exhausted to stick the landing, and collapses onto his couch as his transformation drops.

“You did a wonderful job, Adrien!” Tikki says.

Adrien sighs, staring at the ceiling. “Not as good as Marinette.”

“She would be proud.”

“Maybe.” Adrien blinks, his eyes stinging. “Tikki, I know you’re a kwami, but…how do you cope, when something like this happens?”

Tikki settles on his chest. “Kwamis grieve, too, Adrien. We just have more experience.” Her tiny mouth curves in a smile. “I’ve lost holders before, and it’s never easy. But I’m the kwami of creation and life, and…well. Death is a part of life.” She presses a tiny paw to Adrien’s chest, just above his heart. “All of my holders have taught me something, and that’s how I keep them with me—by remembering what we both learned together.”

Adrien laughs a little at that. “Is that true for Plagg, too? I wonder what I could have taught him.”

Tikki giggles. “He’s the same as me. He’d just never admit it.”

Adrien lays his hand against Tikki’s paw, feeling his heartbeat thud beneath his palm. “It’s just hard. I never—”

From his pocket, Adrien’s phone begins vibrating. He sits up and digs out his phone, answering without checking to see who it is. “Hello?”

“Adrien,” Luka’s voice says. “I’m sorry, I just saw that I missed your call. Are you okay?”

Adrien sits up immediately. “Luka! Grâce à dieu. Are _you _okay?”

There’s a pause, which isn’t unusual for Luka. He’s not a fast talker like Alya. “Yeah, I think so. I was trying to make sure people near the houseboat were safe. I didn’t realize you’d called until the akuma was gone.”

“That’s okay,” Adrien says. He doesn’t care why Luka missed his call—he only cares that Luka’s safe.

“How are you feeling?” Luka asks.

Adrien has to remind himself that Luka’s not talking about becoming Ladybug. That’s his secret now, a wall that’s sprung up between them. Adrien knows that he can’t tell Luka about his superhero identity—or at least, that he _shouldn’t_. And that makes his bones even wearier, because he’s grown used to talking to Luka about everything. He doesn’t want Ladybug to put distance between them.

“Hm?” Adrien says, watching Tikki for a reaction. She doesn’t nod or shake her head, so he decides to keep the Ladybug business to himself. 

“How are you feeling?” Luka repeats. “Seeing the new Chat Noir—and Ladybug—did that…”

“Oh,” Adrien says. “Yeah. I trust them.” It’s partly true, anyway. He trusts Chat Noir. “I didn’t catch much of the fight on TV, so I guess I’ll have to watch the footage later.”

“Yeah.” Luka laughs warmly on the other end of the line. “Yeah, it was something. A little close for comfort. But I’m sorry, Adrien. I wish Papillon hadn’t come back.”

“Me too,” Adrien murmurs.

Both ends of the line are silent for a minute, and then Adrien clears his throat. “Hey, Luka. I have some stuff to do, so…I’ll see you around?”

“Sure,” Luka says. “Take care.”

Adrien moves to hang up, but he stops at the last second, finger hovering over the red _end call _button. “And, uh—love you.”

“Love you too, Adrien,” Luka says, not missing a beat.

Adrien presses the button and tosses the phone onto the couch cushion beside him. “Okay,” he says, trying not to think about the fact that it’s the first time he’s told Luka that. Because that means they’re close. That means it would hurt to lose him. “Okay. Tikki, what do you want to eat?”

Tikki smothers a yawn. “Do you have cookies?”

A few minutes later, once Tikki has eaten, Adrien sinks onto his bed and curls up. For the moment, he’s too tired to feel; exhaustion keeps the fear and crushing responsibility at bay, at least for one night. He’ll process all of this tomorrow. 

As he drifts off with Tikki asleep on the pillow right next to him, he can only think one thing: no matter what, he has to protect his friends. Maître Fu might have made a mistake giving Adrien the Ladybug Miraculous—in fact, Adrien’s sure the Guardian could have chosen better—but Adrien will do anything, _anything, _to protect his loved ones from Papillon’s wrath.

Deep down, though, he can’t help but worry that it won’t be enough.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, y'all. If you follow me on Tumblr, you know that earlier this week, one of my cats back home died suddenly. She's the second cat to die since I left home to go back to school, and I just didn't have enough energy to edit and post this chapter when that happened. I really, _really_ hope this is the last cat we lose for a while, because this is devastating. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for your patience. I'm going to try to get the next few chapters up sooner, but I can't make any promises. In other news, I've started writing the next _Missing the Third_ one-shot and should have that done sometime this month. I'm also working on a little fic with Adrienette/Marichat, so keep an eye out for that, too. 
> 
> **Chapter warnings:** None

Alya and Nino come by the mansion two days after the akuma attack, along with Luka. He smiles when he sees Adrien, and Adrien smiles back, relieved to see him safe and sound with his own two eyes.

That relief quickly turns to anxiety, though. While Adrien’s done his best to emotionally prepare for this—for hearing his friends talk about the new Ladybug and Chat Noir—it’s hard. He’s spent months being completely honest with them, no secrets whatsoever, and now…

It feels a little like being trapped in an underground tunnel. For weeks, Adrien had been walking, gradually making his way back toward the light with his friends by his side. When he became Ladybug, though, it was like the ceiling collapsed behind him, cutting him off from everyone else. Now he feels more isolated than ever.

Wrapped up in his thoughts, he misses the first part of what Alya’s saying.

“—and can you _believe _the nerve of him?” Alya asks.

“Who?” Adrien says.

“Papillon, obviously,” Alya growls. “He should have quit after what he did. I can’t believe he came back.”

“Right,” Adrien says. “I—I’m angry, too.”

And he is. He’s still in a bit of shock from the other day’s events, but rage simmers beneath all the anxiety and disbelief. He hates this man who won’t leave well enough alone. He wishes he knew who it was.

He’s also glad he doesn’t know, or else he might do something he regrets.

“I’m sorry, man,” Nino says. “This sucks.”

“Yeah.” Adrien smiles thinly. “Do you guys want something to drink? I’m stopping in the kitchen.”

With two lemonade orders from Alya and Nino, Adrien makes his way to the kitchen. The chef is off today, meaning she’s not there to scold Adrien for intruding on her space, or chastise him for being such a picky eater—as if his temporary loss of appetite was somehow his fault. Then again, he supposes that if someone refused to eat his carefully-crafted food and subsisted on microwavable meals for a few weeks, he’d be a little mad, too.

Luka follows him to the kitchen. “Do you want me to change the topic?” he asks.

As Adrien opens the fridge and reaches for the lemonade carton, he glances over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“Alya,” Luka says. “She wants to talk about the new superheroes. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to have that conversation.”

“Oh.” Adrien shuts the fridge door, then sets the lemonade on the counter. “I don’t know.”

Of course, part of Adrien is dying to talk about the new Ladybug and Chat Noir. He wants to tell his friends everything: confide his fears and anxieties about being Ladybug, explain the guilt he feels taking over Marinette’s job, tell them about the bizarre connection he feels to his new partner. The problem is, he can’t tell them any of that. Superhero identities are supposed to stay secret, after all. That leaves Adrien with two choices: either avoid the conversation topic altogether, which is bound to be suspicious—or lie.

“I mean, I’m not upset,” Adrien says. He places four glasses on the counter and reaches for the lemonade, but Luka beats him to it, screwing off the cap and pouring three glasses. “It’s just a weird topic for me. I don’t know if I can talk about it.”

Luka nods and returns the carton to the fridge. “I’m not dying to talk about it, either.”

“Really?” Adrien says. Before Luka can do all the work, he fills a glass with water—that’s all Luka ever drinks, aside from the occasional glass of milk. “Why?”

Luka shrugs, leaning back against the counter. “It’s a little too close to home. When other Parisians talk about this, it’s impersonal. For us, though…”

He trails off, but Adrien knows what Luka’s trying to say. For most of Paris, the appearance of new superheroes is a relief, a reassurance. It’s something exciting to talk about. For Adrien and the others, though, it’s a brutal reminder that Marinette is gone for good.

“I can handle the conversation,” Adrien says. “But I might not have much to say.” He lightly touches Luka’s arm. “Are _you_ okay with Alya talking about it? If not, I can tell her to save it for later.”

With another shrug, Luka says, “I don’t mind. I might not have much to say, either.”

That’s not unusual, though. Luka rarely says more than he has to. Adrien’s silence, though—that’s bound to be noticeable.

“Okay.” Adrien squeezes Luka’s arm and smiles, then grabs two of the glasses. “Let’s go, then.”

As he and Luka walk back to the others, though, Adrien can feel anxiety twisting in his stomach. Is Luka disappointed in the new Ladybug? That must be why he doesn’t want to talk. He’s probably keeping quiet so he doesn’t say anything cruel.

Adrien trails a few steps behind Luka, staring uneasily at his back. As if Luka’s sensed his gaze—and maybe he has—he stops in front of the kitchen doorway and turns to Adrien.

“Adrien,” Luka says. “What’s wrong?”

Adrien does his best to seem unbothered. “What do you mean?”

“You’re trailing three steps behind me,” Luka says. “Something’s bothering you.”

Adrien swallows, then decides to just ask the question. He’d rather hear Luka’s answer now than worry about it for the next hour or two. “What do you think of the new Ladybug?”

Luka doesn’t answer right away. For a long moment, his eyes search Adrien, as if he’ll find the answer written somewhere on his skin.

Finally, he says, “I trust him.”

“You can’t really,” Adrien says. “I mean, he—he’s not Marinette.”

“No,” Luka says. “But if the Guardian was smart enough to pick you and Marinette originally, then I trust him to make the right decision a second time.”

Adrien wishes he had that sort of faith in Maître Fu. In truth, he has no idea if he’ll be able to handle the next akuma attack. He’s still convinced his first success was a fluke.

“What answer were you hoping for?” Luka asks, when Adrien doesn’t respond.

Adrien shakes his head. “I’m not sure I trust Maître Fu that much.”

He almost misses it, but something like hurt flashes through Luka’s eyes. “You think he should have picked different people?”

“I—no. I don’t know.” Adrien’s hands tighten around the glasses he’s holding. If he was transformed right now, he’d probably shatter them by accident. “I trust the new Chat Noir. I’m just not sure if Ladybug can do the job.”

Luka’s eyes narrow, and immediately, Adrien wishes he hadn’t started this conversation. Luka’s anger is rare, almost nonexistent. When he _is _provoked, it’s always intense. Adrien remembers the time Luka got akumatized, when M. Roth had plagiarized Luka and his friends. Luka’s practiced calm had evaporated, revealing a soul that craved justice and longed to punish wrongdoers.

Maybe because Luka lives on a houseboat, he’s always reminded Adrien of the water. Like a lake frozen at winter, he’s calm and still on the surface—but beneath, he’s dark depths, icy waters, ruthless currents. Adrien’s always crept across that lake’s surface, avoiding the cracks that could shatter Luka’s calm. Now, though, he has the sudden fear that he’s about to be pulled under.

“It’s only been one day,” Luka says. “How can you say that already?”

Adrien shrinks back a little. “I don’t know. It’s just the feeling I get.”

“I don’t think that’s fair.”

_Back off, _Adrien’s gut tells him. “Maybe not,” he says. “I guess I’ll wait and see.”

Luka scrutinizes Adrien for another moment, and then he nods. “Okay.”

They walk back to the others, and as they do, Adrien still senses a chill emanating from Luka. He hadn’t expected Luka to be so defensive of the new Ladybug—but then again, maybe Luka’s being optimistic like the rest of the city. He probably doesn’t want to admit that Paris’s new savior is an inept basket case.

Or maybe Luka’s just good at believing in people. That’s never been one of Adrien’s strong points.

“And this new Chat Noir moves like a different cat,” Alya says to Nino, as Adrien and Luka rejoin them. “Did you notice that? Adrien always acted kind of like a playful house cat, while this new guy slinks around like—I don’t know. A stray? Or a wildcat. Do you think it’s more like a wildcat?”

Nino sighs the long-suffering sigh of a boyfriend who has already been asked this same question forty-eight times in the past fourty-eight hours. “Wildcat?”

“I think so, too!” Alya says, sitting forward in her armchair. “Then again—”

“Hey, look,” Nino says. “They’re back.”

Adrien rolls his eyes at the weak distraction tactic. _Subtle,_ he mouths.

Smiling, Luka holds up the two glasses of lemonade. “Who had the lemonade?”

As Adrien watches Luka hand the drinks to Alya and Nino, he realizes he’s not the only one who knows how to fake a smile. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Luka was completely unruffled. But no—after spending weeks intimately confiding in Luka, Adrien can feel a current connecting the two of them, broadcasting Luka’s mess of emotions to him. And Luka’s definitely still upset.

Is this how Luka feels, as an empath? It’s awful, in a way. Adrien feels like he’s being tossed around a stormy sea, angry waves beating at the side of his head.

Adrien sets his lemonade on the coffee table and sits on the couch. A moment later, Luka joins him. When Adrien moves to hand Luka his glass of water, though, he realizes that Luka’s not paying attention. He’s listening to Alya talk, and if Adrien only looked at his face, he’d think Luka was fine. He has the same serene expression as ever, his lips curled in the beginnings of a smile.

Except Adrien’s not looking at Luka’s face; he’s looking at his hands. As Luka listens to Alya, he twists the multiple rings on his fingers, rubs the beads of his bracelets, picks at his nails. Adrien has a feeling that if Luka had his guitar out right now, he’d be plucking the strings at a breakneck pace.

Before Luka can chip away all of his nail polish, Adrien tentatively places his hand on top of Luka’s. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “You’re right. That was unfair of me to say.”

After a moment, Luka glances at him. “You still think that, though.”

“I can’t help that.”

With a curt nod, Luka goes back to watching Alya. As he does, though, he takes Adrien’s hand and squeezes it. _I’m still here, _he seems to be saying.

Despite the reassurance, Adrien can’t help but wonder if Luka is getting tired of him. He becomes fixated on Luka’s hand, willing him not to let go.

“Oh, and their suits!” Alya says. “Nino, they—”

Nino groans. “Don’t tell me, Alya. I’ve already heard this. Tell them.”

Alya immediately turns to Luka and Adrien. “Look, I’m not a fashion expert, but I know one thing: you can tell a lot about a superhero’s personality from their suit.”

“Alya treats superhero suits like they’re astrology signs,” Nino says.

“Shut up,” Alya says, though she’s smiling. “Adrien, Luka. Suits. Thoughts. Go.”

This question, at least, Adrien can answer. “I love Chat Noir’s suit,” he says. “Edgy, cool, but still a little fanciful. And it’s got a bit of a rocker vibe, which I like. Then again, I’m biased towards black leather.”

Alya nods, as if she’s a teacher and Adrien’s just answered a question in class right. “Luka?”

Somehow, Luka seems caught off-guard, even though he must have known he’d be asked next. “Oh. Uh, yeah. I mean, it’s my style. I’d probably wear it.”

Alya raises an eyebrow. “Including the cat collar?”

Luka’s freckles disappear in a bright red blush. Smiling, Adrien nudges him. “You could pull it off. Though the cat ears might get you weird looks.”

Luka closes his eyes. He looks like he’s about to catch fire, which sort of ruins Adrien’s water metaphor—lakes don’t usually combust. “Forget what I said earlier. I want her to change the subject.”

Even though Adrien’s still uneasy from their earlier conversation, he can’t help but smile at how flustered Luka is. “Then again, I’m not sure Chat Noir’s pants are tight enough for him,” Adrien tells Alya. “Don’t you like your jeans on the skinnier side, Luka?”

Alya hums. “Skinnier than that?” she says. “I don’t know, Adrien. Chat Noir’s pants are pretty tight already.”

Luka’s face disappears behind his hands. “I quit.”

Adrien pins his tongue between his teeth, his own cheeks flushed with suppressed laughter. He holds the glass of water up for Luka. “Need to cool down?”

Luka takes the glass and gulps down half of it. “Very funny. It’s nice that I made you all laugh. Can we move on?”

But Alya seems to still be seriously contemplating Chat Noir’s pants. “That’s how you know the material is magic, I guess,” she says. “If those pants were real leather, Chat Noir would never be able to—”

“I like Ladybug’s suit,” Nino says. “It’s a cool suit. Don’t you guys think it’s a cool suit?”

Luka doesn’t respond, and Adrien notices his face is still a faint pink. Worried that Luka took things the wrong way—because now, Adrien knows, Luka isn’t always as unaffected as he seems—he leans over and whispers, “Sorry. Are you okay?”

Raising an eyebrow, Luka says, “I’m fine. My self-esteem, on the other hand…” He shrugs, taking another drink of water.

Adrien pats Luka’s knee. “We were mostly being serious, you know. We all think you’d look good in that outfit.” He snorts. “And really, this makes it easier to buy you a birthday present. Normal jewelry is expensive, but cat collars hardly cost anything.”

Luka coughs, spitting a bit of water back into his glass. “Adrien, if you buy me a cat collar for my birthday—”

“Adrien, I wanted to ask,” Alya says. “You’re the expert on Ladybug and Chat Noir. What do you think of the new guys?”

Immediately, the air becomes thick with unvoiced tension. Adrien glances at Luka, hesitating. “Well…”

“I don’t want to start another argument,” Luka says.

“Oh?” Alya says. She sets down her glass, which means it’s time for business. “So you two already talked? Sounds like you’ve got differing opinions.”

Luka sighs. “I think it’s unfair to dislike Ladybug when he’s only had one day to do his job.”

“I don’t dislike him,” Adrien says. “I said I don’t think he’s cut out for the job.”

“You’re being too critical,” Luka says. He takes another sip of water, staring straight ahead.

“Well,” Adrien says, “I guess I’m more critical of the person who’s replacing Marinette. That’s not unreasonable.” He clenches his jaw. “Besides, I was Chat Noir for a while. I know what to look for in a Ladybug. This one will never be as good as Marinette.”

And there it is: the fear that no matter how hard Adrien tries, he’ll never be good enough to deserve the Ladybug Miraculous. After all, the only reason he’s Ladybug now is that Marinette’s gone. If she was still here, Maître Fu never would have thought Adrien was worthy of the earrings.

The thought physically pains Adrien, and it hurts twice as much knowing that he has to keep it to himself. He can’t tell his friends he’s Ladybug, so how can he even begin to explain the anxiety and terror that he feels? This is just one conversation, and he already feels like he’s bottling up so much that he’s on the verge of exploding. Didn’t Luka tell him that was unhealthy? And yet, it’s not as if Adrien has another choice.

He has no idea how he’s going to handle another conversation about his alter ego, or another ten, or another one hundred. Eventually, the others are going to notice. They’re going to beg Adrien to let them in, scold him for keeping things to himself—and when that time comes, Adrien will have no choice but to shut them out.

Luka’s calloused fingers squeeze Adrien’s hand again. “You’re trembling,” he murmurs.

Adrien glances at him, tries to speak, but words won’t come. He’d hoped he’d be able to lie like he used to—fake a smile even as anxiety twisted his insides—except now his friends know what to look for. He can’t fool them anymore.

Nino’s the first to respond to Adrien’s words. “Man, that’s a little harsh,” he says. “I know you miss Marinette, but to say the new guy’s that bad…”

“Yeah, personally, I’m optimistic,” Alya says, frowning. “I talked to the akuma victim afterwards, and she had really good things to say. But you’ve got a point—you knew Ladybug better than any of us. So, what is it? His fighting style? His Lucky Charm solution? I didn’t think he—”

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” Adrien says, shoulders hunched. “I just don’t have as much faith as you do, I guess.”

“Okay,” Alya says. “Moving on to the Ladyblog. So, obviously, it’s smartest to keep using the same site, but then again…”

Adrien tunes her out almost immediately. It’s all he can do to blink back tears and keep from curling into a tiny ball. He doesn’t have the energy to follow the conversation.

Luka sets his glass on the coffee table and turns to Adrien. “Hey,” he murmurs, taking Adrien’s hand. His fingers are cool from the condensation of his glass. “You’re not usually this hard on other people. What’s going on?”

Adrien shrugs. “I’m just being realistic.”

Luka considers that. “That day, on the phone—you said you trusted the new Ladybug and Chat Noir. What changed?”

Adrien glances at the floor. “When you didn’t answer the phone, I was worried that something happened to you. Throughout that entire conversation, all I could think was how relieved I was that you were safe. I wasn’t really thinking about anything else.”

That, at least, is true. After successfully defeating the akuma and finding out that Luka hadn’t been hurt, Adrien had experienced a few fleeting moments of confidence. He’d thought he could handle being Ladybug. He’d thought he was ready to protect Paris in Marinette’s place.

But the next day, watching footage of the battle, he’d realized how mistaken that hope was. Adrien’s performance as Ladybug was clumsy and flawed. He was nowhere near as good as Marinette. She’d been the perfect Ladybug, and Adrien…despite all his struggles for perfection over the years, in all the things he’s done, he’s never really come close.

“Okay,” Luka says. “But I was safe thanks to Ladybug. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

“I wish it did,” Adrien says, “but that was one time. It could have been a fluke.” He lets his head fall back against the couch, then turns to face Luka. “I—” He yells as pain shoots through his right ear. “Oh, _merde, _I forgot—”

Luka’s eyes widen. “Adrien, are you alright?”

Adrien clutches his ear, eyes watering. For the past two days, he’s mostly been keeping the Miraculous earrings in his pocket because it hurts too much to wear them. And of course, if his friends saw the earrings today, Adrien’s not sure they’d believe it’s a coincidence that he pierced his ears right when Ladybug returned. Distracted by the conversation and his own distress, though, he’d forgotten how much his ears still hurt from Tikki’s spontaneous piercing.

“I’m fine!” Adrien says. Alya and Nino are staring at him, alarmed. “I, uh—tinnitus. From all those akuma battles. Explosions, avalanches, you know, they aren’t so great for your hearing. T’inquiète pas!”

Nodding slowly, Alya and Nino go back to their conversation. Every few seconds, their eyes flick over to Adrien, as if to make sure he’s not dying.

Luka gently tugs Adrien’s hand away from his ear, then hisses as if _he’s _the one whose ears were stabbed. “Adrien,” he says, voice pained.

“I’m fine,” Adrien insists. “It’s just, uh…”

“Come on.” Luka grabs Adrien’s wrist and stands, yanking Adrien to his feet. “We’ll be right back.”

Heedless of Alya and Nino’s confusion, he drags Adrien to the bathroom and closes the door behind them.

Luka crosses to the toilet and puts the lid down. “Sit.”

“Luka,” Adrien says, lowering himself onto the toilet, “I told you, I’m—”

“Do you have any antiseptics for ears?” Luka asks, rooting through the cabinets behind Adrien’s mirror. He grabs a few cotton pads and a bottle of saline solution that Adrien forgot he had. “Never mind. This will do. And do you have something to sterilize the earrings?”

Adrien’s entire body goes rigid. “Earrings? I’m, uh—I don’t wear earrings.”

“I don’t know if your piercings are infected, but they’re definitely irritated,” Luka continues. “What have you been doing to take care of them?”

“I…piercings?” Adrien says, mind going blank. “I—I don’t—”

“Adrien,” Luka says. “Do you think I don’t know pierced ears when I see them?”

“Right.” Adrien grimaces. “I…didn’t know I was supposed to do anything after piercing them.”

Luka closes his eyes and sighs. “You tried to pierce them yourself?”

Now, more than ever, Adrien wishes he could tell his friends about being Ladybug—because oh, he’s dying to throw Tikki under the bus right now. “Yes. It was stupid, and on a whim, and I obviously did a bad job.”

Smiling sympathetically, Luka crosses over to Adrien and bends over to inspect his ears. His knuckles brush featherlight against Adrien’s jaw. “Well,” he says, “they’re definitely pierced.”

“I can tell,” Adrien grumbles. “My ears hurt a ton.”

“Yeah,” Luka says. “I know. I did the same thing when I was eight. I thought I could pierce my ears with a sewing needle.”

Adrien stares at him, aghast. “You didn’t.”

Luka nods. “They got infected. It wasn’t fun.” He returns to the sink and begins to wash his hands. “I have a friend who does professional piercings. I’ll give you her contact info for next time.”

“Non, merci,” Adrien says. “I’m never doing this again.” 

Drying his hands, Luka nods. “That’s fair.” He wets one of the cotton pads with the saline solution, then adds, “You should clean the area more carefully. At least once a day.”

“Noted.”

Holding the cotton pad, Luka bends over and lightly grips Adrien’s chin with his free hand. “I’m sorry, this might hurt. But I need to clean the piercings.”

“You don’t—um, okay.” Adrien flashes Luka a quick grin. “I spent years fighting supervillains. Do your worst.”

Adrien wants to say, _You don’t need to. _But that’s one thing he’s learned about Luka: he does a lot of things he doesn’t have to. He didn’t have to come to Adrien’s house every day for weeks to make sure he was eating. He didn’t have to sit by Adrien’s side while he composed an entire song. He didn’t have to hold Adrien all those times he cried, or spend hours listening to Adrien’s grief-stricken thoughts, or keep visiting every day for the past three months to see how Adrien is doing.

But he did all those things. He _continues _to do all of those things. And while Adrien doesn’t quite understand it, he has a feeling there’s nothing he can do to stop it. Somehow, Luka Couffaine is just meant to be part of his life. It feels strangely cosmic.

Adrien’s thoughts grind to a halt the moment the cotton pad touches his ear. He hisses in pain, eyes scrunched shut. “Just kill me.”

Luka laughs. “This won’t take too long.” He cleans the piercing in silence for a minute, then throws out the cotton pad and grabs a new one. “Hey, Adrien.”

“Yes?”

For a moment, Luka doesn’t say anything. He stands at the sink and takes his time wetting the cotton pad. Finally, he says, “I know you don’t trust the new superheroes.”

“Just Ladybug,” Adrien corrects.

“But just…think about it. Two beginners went against Papillon for the first time and won,” Luka says. “Isn’t that reassuring?”

Adrien’s eyes fall to the tile flooring beneath his feet. “What if they can’t do it again?”

One of Luka’s hands grips Adrien’s shoulder, prompting him to look up and meet Luka’s eyes. “Adrien,” Luka says. “They want to protect Paris, just like you and Marinette used to. And that kind of determination—Papillon can’t defeat that.”

“He did,” Adrien says, fists clenching. “Remember? He defeated us, and now Marinette’s gone. All those times we won, and just one time we lost—it only took that one time. And the other day…that was just an akuma. They didn’t have to fight Papillon himself.” He stares up at Luka, wishing he could make him understand. “Luka, I used to be optimistic. Remember Papillon Écarlate? In the sewers, Ladybug felt like giving up, and I—I told her we could win. And that time, we did.” He blinks, unsurprised to find a few tears clinging to his lashes. “But I…I don’t know anymore. I’m not as confident as I used to be.”

And he wishes Luka understood how significant that was. Because if Adrien was just a civilian, it wouldn’t matter that he’s full of doubts and insecurities. But Adrien’s not just a civilian—he’s Ladybug_, _and he doesn’t know how to believe in himself.

“Adrien,” Luka says softly, kneeling in front of him. “He didn’t defeat you. You’re still here, and he didn’t get either of the Miraculouses. Paris has a _chance _because of you_._” He cups Adrien’s cheek with his free hand, thumb catching one of his tears as it falls. “The city will be safe, Adrien. I’m sure of that.”

Adrien scoffs. “How can you be sure? Did you get your clairvoyant snake powers back?”

“No,” Luka says, smiling slightly. “Adrien, it’s fine if you don’t trust the new heroes yet. But can you trust me?”

Adrien chews on his bottom lip, avoiding Luka’s eyes. Because of course, the answer is usually _yes_—Adrien always trusts Luka to tell him the truth, the same way he trusts Chat Noir to have his back in battle. But this seems to be the one exception; Adrien just can’t bring himself to believe that everything is going to work out.

“I don’t know,” Adrien grumbles. “Depends on whether you make my ear infection go away.”

Luka smiles and brushes Adrien’s hair away from his face. “Don’t worry. I don’t think it’s infected yet.” Casually, he swipes his fingers across Adrien’s face, wiping away the remaining tears as if he’s just catching stray eyelashes. Then he moves to Adrien’s other ear. “By the way, you shouldn’t take the earrings out for the first few weeks after a piercing,” Luka says. “You need to leave them in as much as you can. Do you have them on you?”

Adrien starts to reach for his pocket, then stops himself. The earrings look exactly like Marinette’s, which someone as observant as Luka is bound to notice. And whether Luka assumes they’re a pathetic tribute to her, or that they’re the Ladybug Miraculous…well, neither option is good.

“Uh, no,” Adrien says, doing his best to act sheepish. “I threw them out yesterday. Sorry. I got frustrated.”

He almost expects Luka to be irritated, but as always, he just smiles agreeably. “I’ll go find you a pair later.”

“That’s not necessary,” Adrien says. “Really, Luka. I’ll buy new ones. It’s my fault for throwing them out.”

“Okay,” Luka says, dabbing at Adrien’s ear. “I guess you know what you like. Just make sure you keep them in for several weeks. And don’t sleep on them. Also—”

“How about you text me a list?” Adrien asks. Apparently, piercings get Luka talking almost as much as music does. “I promise I’ll follow it.”

“Sure,” Luka says. He throws out the cotton pad and tousles Adrien’s hair like he’s a toddler. “There, all done.”

Adrien wants to laugh at that. He wants to smile and tease, say, _Do I get a sticker, Docteur Couffaine? _

But he’s so tired, and alone, and scared. For god’s sake, he can’t even wear his Miraculous without Luka’s help. How is he supposed to protect Paris when he’s so useless? He can’t have Luka hold his hand and guide him through every akuma battle. In fact, he needs to keep Luka as far away from Papillon’s akumas as possible.

Luka leans forward and grabs Adrien’s shoulders, fingers digging lightly into his skin. “Adrien,” he says. “You’re safe. I promise.”

Adrien stands suddenly and wraps his arms around Luka, nearly toppling him over. He wishes he could tell Luka the truth: that he doesn’t feel safe, that he’s afraid Papillon will finish the job he started and take everyone away from Adrien. But he knows that if he says that, Luka will just offer more empty reassurances—and Adrien doesn’t want Luka to lie to him. 

Instead, he holds Luka close and presses their bodies together, wishing he could absorb some of Luka’s calm and assurance. Even as his heart beats against Luka’s, though, he can feel a gulf opening between them. Adrien wants so badly to reach out to Luka and share his fears about being Ladybug, but he _can’t. _He has no choice except to figure things out on his own, and he’s not sure he can do that. He’s afraid to face something this big by himself.

“So,” Adrien says. He pulls away and clears his throat. “I—I should probably get some homework done. There’s a lot.”

That’s not a lie, exactly. Adrien missed so many classes while he was grieving that he’ll be spending the entire summer playing catch-up. Before his friends arrived today, his father’s temporary assistant had sent him a list of the week’s assignments; Adrien’s head is already swimming from all the reading he’ll have to do.

He supposes he should be grateful he’s not being forced to repeat a year. He’s not sure how he’d manage spending an entire school year separated from his friends.

“Okay,” Luka says, even though he probably knows Adrien is making excuses. “Let’s go tell Alya and Nino.”

Adrien follows Luka out of the bathroom. “Hey, guys,” he says. “I have to get started on homework now. I’ll catch up with you some other time?”

Groaning, Nino stands. “Man, that sucks. I can’t even imagine doing that much homework at once.”

Alya nods in agreement. “We’ll leave you to it.” She follows Nino toward the bedroom door, pausing before she goes through it. “By the way, I’m prepping for my interview with the new heroes. Any questions you think I should ask either of them?”

Adrien shrugs. “Not really. Just tell Chat Noir that his predecessor approves of him. And his costume.”

“No questions,” Luka says. “But tell Ladybug I think he’s doing a good job.”

While Adrien appreciates the gesture, he still thinks Luka is just being nice. He’d never actually say that to Ladybug—Luka doesn’t tell people things he doesn’t mean.

Waving, Nino and Alya exit Adrien’s room and disappear down the stairs. Luka hovers in the doorway, fingers grazing Adrien’s arm. “Is it okay if I leave? Do you want me to stay a little longer?”

Truthfully, Adrien’s never quite _okay _when Luka leaves; everything always seems clearer with him around. It’s like the answers to Adrien’s struggles are all locked behind a door, and when Luka leaves, he takes the key with him.

“It’s just homework,” Adrien says, smiling. “I’ll survive.”

Brow still furrowed, Luka pulls Adrien into another hug. “Text me if you need anything.”

“I will,” Adrien says. Though really, he won’t—because what he really needs is Luka by his side, every hour, every day, and he can’t ask for that.

“And remember what I said,” Luka says.

“I’ll try,” Adrien says.

That doesn’t seem to completely satisfy Luka. Apparently it’s enough, though, because he gives Adrien’s arm a comforting squeeze and then departs.

Once everyone is gone, Tikki darts out from behind Adrien’s climbing wall. “Adrien?” she says. “What’s wrong?”

Adrien smiles ruefully. “I thought I could finally be completely honest with my friends,” he says. “Then I became Ladybug. I don’t like having to lie to them again.”

“I’m sorry,” Tikki says, her large eyes full of sympathy. “But you’re not really lying! You’re just…omitting.”

Adrien sighs. “I guess.”

“Oh!” Tikki says. “Before I forget. I was thinking about Chat Noir’s ring, and I remembered something.”

“Yeah?”

“I can change the appearance of your Miraculous!”

Back before he lost Marinette, Adrien would have been excited by the possibilities that presents. Magical customizable jewelry? That’s a model’s dream. Now, though, he’s only mildly interested. “Oh. That’s cool. So you can make them look different from Marinette’s? I don’t want my friends to ask why I have earrings that look like hers.”

“Right!” Tikki says, smiling. “Or I can make them clip-ons.”

Adrien is silent for a moment as he processes what Tikki just said. His ears throb with pain as her words sink in. “Tikki.”

“Yes?”

_“Tikki.”_

“I’m sorry!” she says. “I forgot.”

Sighing, Adrien pats her on the head. “It’s okay. I didn’t know, either.” He shrugs. “Now that my ears are pierced, I guess they don’t need to be clip-ons. We can figure out a design later.”

“That sounds fun!” Tikki says. “I love designing.”

At her words, Adrien feels a pang of regret. Even if he’s Ladybug, he’s still not much of a creator. Tikki is the kwami of creation, and she’s stuck with a holder who’s only ever composed a single song under extreme duress. He’s never really tried to create anything else. He has trouble putting together outfits some days, and his greatest culinary achievement is reheated macaroni and cheese with frozen peas stirred in.

Tikki must miss Marinette’s design skills. She must miss helping Marinette with her creations.

Adrien’s eyes sting. Oh, he misses Marinette’s designs, her creativity. Sometimes he thinks about the unfinished sketches her notebooks must have, and the thought nearly destroys him. There’s so much she left undone, and there’s no way Adrien can help her finish any of it. Marinette’s work will forever be incomplete.

For some reason, _that’s _the thought that makes fresh tears slip from Adrien’s eyes. He sits on his bed and sniffs, cupping Tikki to his chest.

“Adrien?” she says.

“I’m not a designer,” Adrien says stupidly. “I can’t design.”

“You don’t have to!” Tikki says. “You can make the earrings the same way you made your Chat Noir costume.”

“I’m sorry,” Adrien says. “I just—I—I don’t create things, Tikki. I’m sorry you’re stuck with me.”

“Don’t say that!” Tikki says. “I’m glad you’re my holder, Adrien. And it’s okay if you’re new to this. I’ll help you.”

Adrien hears her, but he doesn’t really register her words. “All those designs, Tikki. How many did she leave unfinished? How many clothes were half-done?” He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. “It’s not fair, Tikki. She created such beautiful things. How can she be gone?”

Tikki flies up to Adrien’s neck and nuzzles him. “You can’t think like that, Adrien. That’s not good for you.”

In this moment, though, Adrien can’t think about what’s good for him. He’s stuck thinking about Marinette and all the things she didn’t get to do.

Where did this come from? He hasn’t been like this in weeks. He thought he was _better. _Why does it feel like he’s suddenly back to square one?

“I don’t know how to be a good Ladybug,” Adrien says, aware that he’s rambling. “I don’t know how to carry on her legacy. It’s the only thing I can finish for her, and—and I don’t know how to do it.”

Tikki hovers in front of Adrien, smiling. “You just have to do your best!”

Adrien nods slowly. “Right. I…I have to be a better Ladybug. I _have _to beat Papillon. I can’t afford to make any mistakes. Marinette wouldn’t make mistakes.”

Tikki’s smile wavers. “That’s not what I—”

“You’re right, Tikki,” Adrien says, hands clenching into fists. “I can’t afford to fail.”

He has to be the perfect Ladybug. _That’s _how he’ll carry on Marinette’s legacy. Adrien can’t finish her designs for her, but he can finish this fight against Papillon. It’s the one way he can keep her alive.

What terrifies him most, though, is the thought that if he doesn’t keep this part of her alive, then she’ll disappear completely. The song, the stories he tells his friends—they’re not working. It still feels like, with each passing day, less and less of Marinette remains. There’s so little left for Adrien to hold onto. There are so few ways to remember her.

If Adrien can’t keep her here with Ladybug, then it’s just a matter of time before she slips away completely.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter warnings**: Some panicking

For the next two weeks, Adrien spends all of his free time training. He goes to random rooftops every night and practices using his yo-yo as a shield, a pulley, a tripwire—anything he can think of that might be useful in battle. He tests out the agility of his new suit, performing flips and somersaults to see how high he can jump, how fast he can run.

The first day or two, it’s almost fun. But being Ladybug isn’t supposed to be _fun. _It’s a responsibility. And so Adrien pushes himself harder and harder, running drills each night until he nearly drops over from exhaustion. Even with the superhero suit, he gets blisters on his hands from gripping the yo-yo string, and his shoulders and back are sore every morning from misjudged leaps and accidental falls. 

Tonight, frustration derails most of his maneuvers. Earlier that day, Alya had mentioned Ladybug and Chat Noir again—as she does almost every time Adrien sees her—and naturally, Adrien had shut down and said nothing. After all, what can he say, really? He’s already told his friends how great he thinks Chat Noir is, but he can’t lie and say that he thinks the same of Ladybug. He has nothing to add to those conversations.

Of course, his silence had worried his friends. “Hey, man,” Nino said. “You’re not saying much. Everything okay?”

“You can tell us if something is bothering you,” Alya added.

And Luka didn’t say anything, but Adrien could see the concern etched into his features: the crease of his forehead, the narrowing of his eyes. He could tell something was wrong. Of course he could.

“I’m fine,” Adrien told them, for the fifth time that week.

But this time, they weren’t convinced.

“Adrien,” Alya said. “You can talk to us. You shouldn’t try to deal with things on your own.”

“Yeah, man,” Nino agreed. “We want to help.”

And that’s when Adrien needed to be left alone. He was already struggling with the pressure of being Ladybug, buckling under the weight of impossible standards, and now he was making his friends worry, too. The thought that he could be adding to their misery when they were trying to heal made him sick.

The tendrils of anxiety in his stomach unfurled, searching for something else to feed on—and they latched onto Alya’s words, the way she scolded him for doing the wrong thing. _Wrong, _his mind whispered. _You’re doing everything wrong. _

Adrien had squeezed his eyes shut, holding back tears. “I just have a headache,” he lied. “I think it’s a migraine.”

It was almost true: most days, his secret identity squeezes his head like a juicer, the pressure of secrets so strong that Adrien’s worried his brain will implode.

After some more back and forth, that excuse was enough to make Alya and Nino leave—but not Luka. Luka would never leave that easily.

“Adrien,” Luka had said softly, on his way out the door. “If you’re getting depressed again, you can talk to me. Or I can sit with you, or we can play music, or something. But I don’t want you to get trapped in your head.”

_We want to help. I don’t want you to get trapped in your head. _What about what _Adrien_ wants? He didn’t want to be Ladybug. He didn’t ask for a Miraculous that he clearly doesn’t deserve. Why does it seem like no matter what he does, he’s being swept along by a current he can’t overcome? Losing Marinette, spiraling into depression, receiving the Ladybug Miraculous—things keep _happening _to Adrien, and there’s nothing he can do to control them.

“I’m going to lie down,” Adrien had told Luka. 

Then he closed the door on him.

As that painful memory plays in his mind, Adrien’s extended yo-yo shoots back at him like a boomerang, nailing him in the temple. Pain radiates through his skull.

“Well,” Adrien mutters, “now I really _do _have a headache.”

“That looks like it hurt,” a voice says.

Adrien whirls around, searching for the person who spoke. After a moment, his eyes fall on a familiar figure sitting on the opposite roof, their slender fingers gripping an acoustic guitar.

“Luka!” he exclaims. Then he remembers that he’s Ladybug right now, not Adrien. “That—that’s your name, right? I’ve seen you around. The blue hair’s kind of memorable.”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Luka says, smiling. It’s a little more guarded than the smile he usually gives Adrien, but the warmth is still there.

“What are you doing up there?” Adrien asks.

This part of the city is almost always quiet this late at night—most people are usually in bed or relaxing in the comfort of their homes. Adrien’s not sure why Luka is out and about, or why he decided to climb onto a roof with his guitar.

“I was watching you,” Luka says.

Wincing, Adrien rubs his temple. “Oh. Great. So you finally get to see how incompetent Ladybug is.”

“That’s not what I see.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Adrien says, scowling at his yo-yo. “But you don’t need to lie to me.”

“Why do you think I’m lying?”

Adrien scoffs. “Have you _seen _me? I can’t even use my yo-yo properly.”

“I’ve been here a few nights,” Luka says. He plucks a few notes on his guitar, and the sounds carry from his rooftop to Adrien’s, delicate and sweet. “You’re not incompetent, Ladybug.”

“A few nights?” Adrien echoes. “Why haven’t I seen you?”

He’s almost positive he’s been alone for the past few weeks. He would have noticed if Luka Couffaine was sitting on a roof with his guitar.

“I didn’t have my guitar the other times,” Luka says. “Without an instrument, I’m pretty quiet.”

Adrien’s still not convinced. How could he have missed one of his closest friends clambering onto a rooftop?

Sighing, Adrien slings his yo-yo around a beam and swings over to Luka’s roof. As he comes down, though, the thin wood cracks under the weight of the yo-yo. Adrien yelps and tumbles onto the roof, face slamming into cool concrete.

Luka grabs his arm and gently turns him over. “Are you okay?”

Lying on his back, Adrien squeezes his eyes shut. “No,” he says, voice wavering. It’s stupid, that this would make him tear up—but lately, the most trivial things make him want to cry. “See what I mean? I can’t even swing from one roof to another without falling over.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Luka says. “The beam wasn’t as sturdy as it looked.”

His hand presses against Adrien’s upper back, and Adrien reluctantly sits up. With a shaky breath, he tosses the yo-yo across the roof and hugs his arms to himself. “That’s not it,” he says. “I’m incompetent. Even if the beam hadn’t broken, I still would have fallen.”

“Maybe that’s because you’ve been pushing yourself too hard,” Luka says. He leans over and retrieves his guitar from where it’s lying near the edge of the roof. “I told you, I’ve been here a few nights. You train until you’re barely able to stand.”

Adrien doesn’t say anything in response. He can tell that Luka is genuinely concerned—he just doesn’t know why. Is Luka worried because he cares about Ladybug’s wellbeing? Or is he worried because, despite all of Ladybug’s efforts, he still isn’t good enough to defend Paris? 

Sitting cross-legged, Luka plucks a few dissonant chords on his guitar. The acoustic strings ring clearly in the night, smoother than the twang of Luka’s electric guitar, making clashing chords vibrate deep in Adrien’s chest. Then Luka transitions to a brief melody, anxious sixteenth notes that trip over each other and stutter with syncopation.

“Ladybug,” Luka says, silently fretting a few chords. “It might not be my place to ask. But it seems like something is bothering you.”

Now that Adrien has a mask to hide behind, he suddenly finds it harder to keep things to himself. “Yeah,” he admits. “I don’t have anyone to talk to.”

“Hm.” Luka fiddles with his tuning pegs for a moment, then strums a suspended second chord. “You’re talking to me.”

Adrien smiles slightly. “As a civilian, I mean.” He sighs and stares out at the Parisian night. In the distance, the Eiffel Tower looms like a metaphorical mountain that he can’t climb. “I hate lying to my friends. I—I’m supposed to be honest with them and rely on them when I’m struggling. But now I have this giant secret, and they keep asking me what’s wrong, and I can’t tell them. It’s…it’s overwhelming.”

A part of Adrien perversely hopes that Luka will recognize him. _Please see me, _he thinks. _I can’t tell you. I need you to realize it’s me. _

Luka’s fingers ghost across the guitar strings. For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything, and then he nods. “I understand,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean you have to shut them out.”

Adrien tilts his head, peering at Luka. _Does _he recognize Adrien? That seems like something Luka would say to him. Then again, Luka’s known for giving advice. He’d probably say that sort of thing to anyone.

“What else can I do?” Adrien asks. “It’s not like I can call them up and complain about how terrible I am at being Ladybug.”

Luka’s fingers still on the guitar. “Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true,” Adrien says. “I’m awful at strategizing, I don’t understand how Lucky Charms work, and I can’t throw my yo-yo right. I’ll never beat Papillon.” He grits his teeth. “I don’t even know if I can protect Chat Noir, let alone the entire city.”

“Isn’t it his job to protect you?”

Adrien glares at Luka. “At what cost? I won’t let him give his life for me. I refuse to let that happen.” Then he glares at the yo-yo sitting on the other side of the roof instead, because he knows Luka doesn’t deserve his ire. “I’m not good enough, and I’m going to lose him, just like—just like the last Chat Noir lost Ladybug.”

His voice breaks on the last word, and he presses his hands to his eyes as tears pool in them. No, no. Ladybug can’t cry in front of Luka. He’s supposed to project strength and confidence. How can Luka feel safe if he watches Paris’s savior break down in tears?

“Hey,” Luka says. His fingers rest lightly on Adrien’s shoulder, and his touch is more hesitant, less intimate than usual—but it sends the same warmth straight to the marrow of Adrien’s bones. “It’s okay, Ladybug.”

“It’s not,” Adrien says, teeth gritted. “I’m incompetent, I’m useless, and now I’m about to cry in front of a random civilian in the middle of the night. This isn’t _okay.”_

“It’s okay to cry,” Luka says quietly. His hand leaves Adrien’s shoulder, and a second later, he begins playing a simple melody on his guitar. Adrien thinks it might be one of the anime songs they played together. “You’ve just been given this giant burden, and everyone you know is probably celebrating. They don’t stop to think about how that must feel.”

Adrien slowly lowers his hands. “That’s…yeah.”

“It’s a lot,” Luka murmurs. His playing pauses, and then his fingers begin floating across the guitar’s fretboard. It must be an original composition, because Adrien doesn’t recognize the melody. There are no rests or pauses—Luka’s fingers seamlessly move from one minor chord to another, the song shifting and twisting like it’s trying to escape a maze. “I’d be scared. Everyone expects you to have the answers, but you don’t know any more than they do.” He glances up at Adrien, smiling. “Or maybe you do. But I wouldn’t.”

“I don’t know anything,” Adrien mumbles, scrubbing his eyes. “I’ve never even owned a yo-yo.”

Luka laughs. “Yeah,” he says. “They’re overrated. I preferred playing cards, when I was a kid.”

“Playing cards?” Adrien repeats, nose wrinkled.

“And toy lightsabers.” Luka smiles, and his song shifts again, moving to major chords. “You can hit things with them. It’s cathartic.”

Adrien had always thought that music was Luka’s preferred brand of catharsis. The thought of a tiny, angry Luka beating things with a stick is so unexpected that he can’t help but laugh. “Agreed,” he says. “Lightsabers are more fun.”

Not for the first time, he envies Chat Noir for having a staff as his weapon. Adrien probably wouldn’t feel so useless if he was actually armed during akuma battles.

Luka smiles and continues to play his song. It keeps wavering between major and minor, as if he can’t quite decide how it’s supposed to feel. After about a minute, he slaps his palm against the strings, abruptly cutting off the resonating notes. “Hey, Ladybug.”

“That’s me,” Adrien says wryly.

“Are you used to learning new things?” Luka asks. “Or do you usually stick to things you’re good at doing?”

Adrien frowns. “I don’t know. Why?”

“Can you think about the last time you learned something new?” 

Immediately, Adrien’s mind goes to the song he composed with Luka. It had taken time, and he’d gotten stuck often, and there had been entire days where he made no progress. Coupled with Adrien’s fresh grief, composing that song had been one of the hardest things he’s ever done. Honestly, he’s not sure he could do it again. Not without Luka’s help, anyway.

“Okay,” Adrien says. “I’m thinking.”

“Did you learn that thing right away?”

“No,” Adrien says. He realizes where Luka is going with the analogy. “But this is different. I—”

“I don’t think it is,” Luka says. “Even if you did something similar before…” He trails off, lips pursed. “I mean, I don’t know, maybe you were a master gymnast or something. But that doesn’t mean anything. I’m good at guitar—does that mean I’m an expert at any string instrument I pick up?”

“Maybe?”

“No,” Luka says. “Ask my sister. She’s heard me attempt the violin.”

Adrien smiles slightly. “But at least you’re good at guitar. I…I don’t feel like I’m good at anything.”

Or at least, not anything that matters. Because what good are fencing skills with a yo-yo? What good is being able to play piano when a psychopath is terrorizing the city? And what good is learning a language when the one girl Adrien wanted to practice it with is gone?

Adrien clenches his jaw. No, his brain can’t go there. It can’t go to Marinette, or he’ll get stuck thinking about how badly he’s letting her down.

“I doubt that’s true,” Luka says. He raises an eyebrow. “And I wasn’t always good at guitar, you know.” He runs a hand along the curve of the guitar’s body. “Have you ever played?”

“I only know a few basic chords,” Adrien says. “And I can’t do any of the bar ones.”

“Yeah,” Luka says, as if Adrien’s just said something particularly insightful. “I couldn’t, either. Do you want to know what my F chord sounded like for the first few months I tried playing guitar?” He loosely presses his index finger across the top fret and strums. The guitar makes a strangled sound. “Like that. Almost every time, without fail.”

“That’s just one chord,” Adrien says petulantly. He doesn’t want to hear the point Luka is trying to make. He’s not in the mood to feel better about himself.

“Maybe,” Luka say. “But it’s a basic chord. Tons of songs use it. Whenever I played a song with F chords, things would go well at first.” He plays a simple chord progression, fingers nimbly moving from one position to another: C major, G major, A minor. “And then…” The song stutters to a stop, the guitar dully twanging beneath Luka’s misplaced fingers. “I couldn’t play half the songs I wanted to. It killed my confidence for those first few weeks.”

“So what did you do?” Adrien asks, staring at his hands in his lap. “How did you fix it?”

“There wasn’t a magic solution. I just kept practicing, and it clicked one day.” Luka sets the guitar down, then stretches across the roof to retrieve Adrien’s yo-yo. “You’re being too hard on yourself,” he says, pressing it into Adrien’s hands. “You’re doing a great job, and you’ll get better with time. So will Chat Noir.”

Adrien’s hand curls around the yo-yo in a fist. “I don’t have time,” he says. He looks up at Luka, eyes pleading him to understand. “I need to be better _now.”_

“I understand,” Luka says. “Ladybug, I do. But you can’t rush it. You have to take things one step at a time.”

“I’m tired of that,” Adrien growls. The harshness of his voice surprises him. “I’m tired of everything taking so long. I’m tired of never getting better. I—I’m stuck.” He bows his head, trembling with a mix of rage and self-pity. “I can’t protect Paris. I can’t even help myself.”

Seconds pass, and Luka doesn’t respond. Just when Adrien’s convinced Luka’s given up on him, though, he says, “You should let other people help you, then.”

“Who?” Adrien asks. He genuinely wants to know. “I can’t tell anyone I’m Ladybug. How can they help me if they don’t even know?”

“What about Chat Noir?”

“I can’t explain everything to him, either,” Adrien says. And it’s true. These problems aren’t solely Ladybug’s or Adrien Agreste’s—they involve both sides of him, and that’s the trap. “And he probably has his own problems. I don’t want to bother him.”

“Maybe you could learn from each other,” Luka says.

A bitter laugh bursts from Adrien’s lips before he can stop it. “No one should learn from me.”

Another moment of silence stretches between them, and Adrien waits for Luka to offer some other solution to his problems.

Minutes pass. The night breeze chills Adrien’s cheeks, and he shivers. Luka doesn’t seem to notice the cold, though, even as it tousles his hair.

“I’m sorry,” Luka finally says. “I’m not sure what you need to hear.”

And that’s the final nail in the coffin: even Luka can’t help Adrien. He’s officially beyond help.

“It’s okay,” Adrien says, forcing a smile. “It’s not your problem.”

“I _want_ to help,” Luka says. To Adrien’s surprise, his hands are clenched, jaw tight. “I just—Ladybug, I’m sorry. I’m trying, but I don’t think I have the words you need.” He shakes his head. “I never seem to have the right words.”

“What?” Adrien says. “Don’t say that!” He drops his yo-yo into his lap and reaches for Luka’s hands, gripping them tightly. “There are so many times you’ve—that is, I…” He trails off, realization trickling down his neck like sweat: he’s Ladybug right now, not Adrien. He can’t say too much. “Luka, everything you’ve said tonight—you’re right. I don’t know why your words aren’t sticking. There must be something wrong with me.”

Luka shrugs, avoiding Adrien’s eyes. “It’s probably because I’m bad with words.”

“But you’re _not,” _Adrien says. “You—you’re thoughtful, and patient, and…” He stops, afraid to say too much. “Your words are just fine, Luka. I’m the problem. Don’t blame yourself for my issues.” Against his better judgment, he leans forward and wraps Luka in a loose hug. “It’s my fault. I need to get better with dealing things on my own.”

The hug is short and cold; there are several centimeters between their bodies, and it barely lasts three seconds before Luka pats Adrien on the back and leans away.

“If you’re still saying that, then I’m worse with words than I thought,” Luka says. He sighs and reaches for his guitar. “I’d better get home before my family notices I’m gone.”

Throat thick, Adrien watches as Luka slings his guitar over his back and stands. It’s the first time hugging Luka has made him feel worse instead of better, and it’s Ladybug’s fault—Ladybug is what’s putting distance between them.

If Luka knew he was Adrien, he would have held him closer, tighter, longer. But he didn’t, and Adrien decides that must mean that Luka doesn’t know who Ladybug is. Why else would that embrace have felt so foreign? Luka doesn’t know he’s Adrien, which means he doesn’t care that much about Ladybug—he just pities him. And what kind of hero is Adrien, if random civilians are pitying him?

Adrien stands up to say goodbye, and the moment he does, the world tilts around him. He pretends not to notice. “Thank you, Luka,” he says, his voice shaking slightly. “Really. It’s just—Ladybug’s not your problem. It’s mine, and I shouldn’t expect a civilian to deal with it.”

Luka nods, eyes fixed on something indiscernible in the distance. “I understand, Ladybug. I just hope things get better for you.”

It’s so formal, like he’s speaking to a stranger. After all, as far as Luka knows, he is. That thought makes the world spin a little faster around Adrien, and he can only hope that Luka leaves before he dissolves into a panic attack. Luka has been there for Adrien almost every second he’s grieved Marinette, and now…now he can’t be there for Adrien at all. Not in the way Adrien needs him to be.

“Thanks,” Adrien repeats. “I appreciate it.”

Luka hesitates, lips pressed together. Then he nods as if he’s come to a decision. “Ladybug, I—I’m sure this won’t be any more helpful than everything else I’ve said. But…don’t question why you were chosen for this.” He fixes his eyes on Adrien. “I can’t stop you from thinking you’re a bad Ladybug. But you’re the _right _Ladybug, and I believe in you. I really do.” His shoulders slouch. “You probably don’t think I mean that, and that’s fine. I just thought you should know.”

Adrien nods. “Okay.”

He doesn’t really know how to respond. Of course, he completely disagrees with Luka—but he also doesn’t want to reject his kindness. He hates seeing Luka blame himself for problems that aren’t his.

Luka sighs and tugs on his guitar strap. “Take care, Ladybug.”

Nodding again, Adrien closes his eyes and tries to focus on the feeling of cold night air against his face. He feels like he’s freefalling, reaching in vain for something to slow his descent; but there’s nothing there, just dark open space, and he’s all alone and scared.

There’s no good solution. He can’t tell his friends that he’s Ladybug—but if he _doesn’t _tell them, then they’ll keep worrying about him and wondering what’s wrong. It seems like, one way or another, Adrien will end up pushing them away.

Maybe losing his mother and Marinette was just the start. Maybe it’s inevitable that he’ll end up alone.

Adrien doesn’t want to let that happen. He doesn’t want to lose Luka, or Alya and Nino. And that means he has to try harder to convince them he’s fine, to look strong on both sides of the mask.

He can’t let Luka worry about him any more. It pained Adrien’s heart just now to see that dejected look on Luka’s face, and he doesn’t want to make Luka feel inadequate. The fact is, Luka understands Adrien better than anyone else he knows, save maybe Tikki or Plagg. He’s done so much for Adrien. He’s given him so much more than he deserves, and it’s not his fault that Adrien is impossible to help.

This is the least Adrien can do in return: he can set Luka’s mind at ease. Luka shouldn’t have to reassure Ladybug—that’s not his responsibility. Ladybug is Adrien’s burden to bear, and his alone.

When Adrien finally opens his eyes, Luka is gone. He’s by himself on the rooftop, with only the quiet sound of wind whistling in his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick update: The next _Missing the Third_ fic is almost done, and should be posted in the next week or two. Speaking of which! I know some readers were concerned that I wasn't continuing the MT3 series because I hadn't posted a fic for a few months, so to put your minds at ease: unless I explicitly say I'm discontinuing a series--which I would never do--please assume that I'll write the fics eventually! Writing takes time, and sometimes I don't have a ton of that :) 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your support!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Sorry for the long wait. I kept second-guessing this chapter, and then I had to study for my final exams, and then I had to deal with a death in the family--and now I'm currently taking (and probably failing) my final exams, plus I have an awful cold, and...well, I'll spare y'all the complaints! The important thing is, Chapter 7 has finally arrived.
> 
> **Chapter warnings**: Nausea, panic attack, very brief suicidal thought

Weeks pass, and Adrien tries to pretend he’s not a horrible Ladybug. After fighting a few more akumas, though, he still can’t find his footing. He’s not just wearing a new suit, or wielding an unfamiliar weapon; he has to be an entirely different kind of fighter.

He’s faster and nimbler, but that means he’s lighter, too—it’s easier to get knocked off-course or bowled over by an akuma attack. That happens often. Chat Noir spends half his battles diving after Ladybug, retrieving him from whatever wall or sidewalk he’s been slammed into. Adrien’s surprised he hasn’t broken any bones yet.

And mêlée combat is almost impossible without a staff. Most times, Adrien leaves the fighting to Chat Noir while he tries to figure out what to do with his latest Lucky Charm. Of course, those aren’t any less frustrating. They make Adrien’s brain hurt more than any physics problem ever could.

Adrien’s _trying, _but he’s stuck in some sort of limbo between his past and his present. The old Adrien—the carefree, reckless superhero he once was—is gone. There’s no denying that. Ladybug can’t afford to be careless, and the pressure of perfectionism is almost crippling.

But as stupid as it sounds, he’s not sure there’s a new Adrien, either. In theory, that’s Ladybug: a leader, a creator. Except Adrien doesn’t feel like either of those things. He doesn’t know who he’s supposed to be, but he’s almost positive he’s doing it wrong.

Today, Adrien had agreed to play with Kitty Section for a few hours. He thought it wouldn’t be too difficult to keep up his façade of _I’m fine_—after all, playing with a band doesn’t require much talking. But the more people Adrien’s around, the more chance there is that someone will notice something’s wrong. It’s hard enough to fool any of them individually, but all at once? Someone’s bound to notice something.

As Juleka’s bass pounds in Adrien’s chest, his stomach tightens with anxiety. While he’s not so sick that he can’t eat, his appetite is definitely smaller than usual. He’s only had a few handfuls of chips in the past two hours. Worse, the cusp of a panic attack is making him feel vaguely dizzy. Every once in a while, the piano keys start blurring in front of him.

Of course, Adrien knows that these symptoms are a result of bottling things up. The problem is, he doesn’t really have a choice. If he can’t repress his problems, his friends will realize something’s wrong, and that will be the beginning of the end.

Adrien can’t let that happen. He can’t lose them, and that means he has to deal with this.

The song ends just as Anarka Couffaine strides onto the boat with five boxes of pizza. “I hope you’re all hungry!” she says. “Seafarers never waste a boon.”

Rolling his eyes, Luka smiles at Adrien. “Pizza is a boon?”

Adrien smiles back mechanically. “I don’t think they deliver pizza out at sea.”

Luka snorts and sets his guitar aside. As he does, Adrien mentally pats himself on the back. Good. He’s managed to act normal for one exchange. Only several dozen more to go.

His entire body sinks at the thought. It’s exhausting, but lately, this is what his days have become: calculating responses, trying to survive each conversation one sentence at a time.

Adrien grabs a slice of pizza and slips away to the edge of the boat, hoping the others won’t follow. Most of them sit down and start talking—except Luka, who joins Adrien at the railing.

“Everything alright?” Luka asks.

“Yeah,” Adrien says. He takes a bite of pizza and chews, stalling. “Did you see Jagged Stone is getting a new drummer?”

If Luka notices the deflection, he doesn’t say anything. For the next several minutes, he and Adrien talk about music, singers, bands—safe topics. And Adrien thinks he’s doing a pretty good job of acting normal. There are no awkward pauses in the conversation. He smiles and laughs at all the right moments.

Then there’s a lull in the conversation. Adrien and Luka stare out at the river in silence, and waves slap quietly against the side of the boat. After a minute, Luka says, “Adrien.”

Adrien fixates on brushing crumbs from his fingers. “Yeah?”

“I don’t want to force you to say anything,” Luka says. “But it seems like something’s bothering you. And I hate to see you—”

“It’s nothing!” Adrien says. “I mean…it’s just my père.”

This, of course, is not a topic Adrien wants to talk about, either. The stress of being Ladybug is bad enough, and it’s only made worse by his father’s sudden withdrawal from his life. Lately, Adrien has been too busy to think about it. But there are seconds, quiet moments, where the thought sneaks into his mind and gnaws at his brain.

That said, it’s a safer topic than what’s _really _bothering Adrien.

Luka touches Adrien’s shoulder. “Did something happen?”

Adrien shakes his head. “No. It’s just, he’s less strict these days, which should be a good thing. I can leave the house whenever I want, as long as I tell his assistant, and he hasn’t made me do a photoshoot since before…you know.” He sighs. “But he’s also—he’s practically a ghost. I see him even less than I used to. It’s bad enough having maman gone, and now I feel like I don’t have a father, either.”

“I’m sorry,” Luka says. “If you ever want to talk about it, I can listen.”

Adrien nods. “I know. I—thank you.” Eyes stinging, he stares out at the water again. “It’s a lot, Luka, and I…I know you’re…”

“Hey.” Luka wraps his arm around Adrien, pulling him into a side hug. “You know I’m not going anywhere, right?”

“I—but what if I—”

“Ooh, pizza!” a voice calls. “Got any extra?”

Adrien turns and watches as Alya and Nino board the Liberty, cheerfully waving to everyone. His slice of pizza threatens to leave his stomach.

He can’t handle all three of his friends at once. It’s hard enough keeping things from Luka, and that’s only possible because Luka rarely mentions Ladybug and Chat Noir. Alya and Nino, though…

Fighting his rising panic, Adrien wanders over to a pizza box and grabs another slice. His stomach lurches in protest, too anxious to handle more food—but he needs something to do with himself.

“Adrien!” Nino claps him on the shoulder. “How’s it going?”

Adrien nods in response, nibbling at the slice of pizza.

“We’ve been playing for about two hours,” Luka explains. “I think we’re all a little tired.”

“Tired?” Alya says. She slips in between Luka and Nino, cradling a pizza slice. “How can you be tired, when there’s so much going on? I mean, I’ve barely slept these past few weeks, but I have _never _felt this invigorated.” She pauses to bite off a chunk of pizza. “Well, maybe when Ladybug and Chat Noir first appeared a couple years ago. But not since then.”

Adrien focuses intently on the slice of pizza in his hand. The cheese suddenly tastes too salty on his tongue, and he has difficulty swallowing.

“Alya’s been busy revamping the Ladyblog,” Nino says.

“That must be a lot of work,” Luka says.

Adrien finally manages to swallow his bite of pizza. He knows he has to say something—because if Luka ends up talking more than him, Alya and Nino are definitely going to notice. “Yeah, Alya. I’m impressed.”

Tugging at a stringy piece of cheese with her teeth, Alya nods. “Thanks. Like I said before, it makes sense to keep using the same site. But I don’t want to keep posting as if nothing’s happened. It definitely requires some problem-solving!” She takes another bite of pizza and continues with her mouth full. “Archiving all the old stuff feels wrong, you know? And so does dividing stuff by before-Marinette’s-death and after-Marinette’s-death, like…”

“Like Jesus,” Nino jokes.

Alya snorts. “Right. But I do have to separate things somehow, so I decided to divide the blog by akumas. Half of it is the akumas Marinette and the old Chat Noir fought, and the other part of the blog will be the akumas that the new guys fight. So, like…second generation akumas.”

“That’s smart, Alya,” Luka says.

Adrien nods. “Like Pokémon,” he says. He doesn’t say what he’s really thinking: that Alya might as well divide the blog between _good Ladybug _and _bad Ladybug. _It makes the most sense.

“It might be a little awkward at first,” Alya says. “But it’s a way to divide the blog without basing it on something depressing. And of course, we have a new Ladybug and Chat Noir, so it works on two levels.” Alya gestures broadly with her hands. “Miraculous: La seconde génération!”

“I like that idea a lot,” Luka says. “Bon travail, Alya.”

“Yeah,” Adrien agrees.

“And it’s amazing, really,” Alya says, “how different the new Ladybug’s fighting style is. You’d think there’d be some similarities, since it’s the same Miraculous, but there are a lot more differences than I expected.”

Adrien takes a large bite of pizza and barely chews it before swallowing. His stomach turns, begging him not to eat any more, but he takes another slice—because if he’s not eating, that means he has to talk, and he can’t have this conversation.

“Same with Chat Noir,” Nino points out.

“They aren’t bad differences, though,” Luka says.

“No, of course not,” Alya says. “Some of the Lucky Charm solutions are simpler, but that’s not bad.”

Adrien doesn’t believe her. _Simpler _is just a kind way to say that his solutions are inelegant and dumb. Anyone could come up with them. Adrien’s brain isn’t wired to make the clever leaps that Marinette’s did; he doesn’t have the same knack for strategy that she had.

“Hey, Adrien,” Nino says. “You still there?”

Adrien blinks. He moves to take another bite of pizza, and then he realizes he’s eaten all of it. His stomach flips and tightens miserably. “I—yeah.”

But it comes out weaker than he planned, and now three pairs of concerned eyes are glued to him.

Alya grips Adrien’s arm. It’s probably supposed to be comforting, but instead, it makes Adrien feel like he’s being trapped. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Adrien repeats. “It’s just—”

“Oh!” Alya says. “Obviously. I’m sorry, you probably don’t like hearing me talk about the new Chat Noir.”

Luka starts to say, “I don’t think that’s—”

“The new Chat Noir is fantastic,” Adrien says. He shakes off Alya’s hand. “In fact, he’s better than I ever was. Ladybug is the problem.”

“You said that before,” Alya says, pointing at Adrien, “and you never explained it. I don’t see the problem. He’s different, sure, but…”

“Alya,” Luka says. “Maybe—”

“How can you _not _see it?” Adrien asks. “He’s not strong enough to take on Papillon. He’s going to fail just like I did. It’s—I—you don’t get it. He’s going to fail.”

“You don’t know that,” Alya says.

“Give him some credit,” Nino says. “He—”

“He doesn’t deserve credit!” Adrien says. “What has he done? He hardly ever fights. He just gets thrown around a lot. He doesn’t know how to use his Lucky Charms. Chat Noir spends every battle trying to save him. What does he _do?” _

Luka gently touches Adrien’s arm, but Adrien doesn’t even feel it. “Adrien,” he murmurs. “Maybe we should talk in private about—”

“Leave me alone,” Adrien snaps, shoving Luka’s arm away. “Stop trying to make me feel better.”

“Adrien—”

“Quit wasting your effort.” Adrien’s voice breaks, but he keeps going. “I hate to see you keep trying when it doesn’t do any good. Just stop.”

Luka doesn’t try to touch Adrien again. “I understand,” he says softly. It’s like he’s talking to a wild animal, and Adrien hates it, hates that he’s being treated like some sort of feral creature. “And if you want to talk—”

“I don’t!” Adrien says. _I can’t, _he thinks. He glares at Alya. “And quit asking me if I’m alright. I’ll probably never…” His voice wavers as tears blur his eyes. “I thought I was getting better, but now everything’s gotten so much worse. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I can’t—I—it’s too much to handle. I’m not as strong as you thought. I tried to act like I was, because I didn’t want to let you all down, but…that’s what I do, I guess. I let people down.”

A tear rolls down his cheek, and he knows his friends can tell what he’s thinking. He let Marinette down. But what they don’t know is this: he _continues _to let Marinette down. Every Lucky Charm he can’t solve, every maneuver he flubs, he’s failing her. Over and over, like an awful song on repeat, he’s failing the girl they all loved.

Adrien closes his eyes. He can feel Luka’s distress, like the buzzing of an amp, and he can’t look at him. He can’t bear to see the expression on Luka’s face.

“Adrien,” Luka says again, and his voice has taken on an edge. Good—it’s about time he got sick of Adrien. “You can’t—”

“You’re right,” Adrien says. “I _can’t. _I can’t do anything right. It’s about time you realized that.”

He shoves past the trio and barrels down the Liberty’s ramp, running without seeing where he’s going. All he knows is that he screwed up—really, truly screwed up this time. Surely now his friends see the truth: Adrien’s a lost cause, not worth their time. Because they’ve given and given to him, and what good has it done? They’ve wasted their time. Every drop of effort they’ve poured into Adrien, they might as well have poured into a sieve.

“Adrien?” a tiny voice says. It’s Tikki.

“Not now,” Adrien says, teeth gritted as he runs. He knows he’s getting strange looks from the people he passes, but he doesn’t care. “Not now, Tikki. I don’t want to talk.”

As he runs, he sometimes thinks he hears footsteps following him; but when he turns to look, all he ever sees are baffled faces, people staring in confusion at the crazy young man running through the streets of Paris.

He’s alone. He’s actually alone this time. And he hates himself for that, because he doesn’t _want _to be alone. Why did he push his friends away? That was the one thing he was trying not to do. Every smile he faked, every painful thought he pushed aside, he did it so he wouldn’t have to lose them—and now he’s gone and ruined things.

They’re going to leave him. They must have considered it before, back when he was fragile and broken. They only stuck around this long because they thought Adrien was normal again.

But no, that’s impossible. Adrien will never get back to normal.

After running for a few minutes, Adrien ducks into an alleyway and leans against the cold wall of a building, gasping so hard that he feels like he might throw up. He doesn’t cry. He’s past crying, and now he’s panicking, and he feels like he’s dying—and honestly, maybe he should consider that, except life is one thing Adrien refuses to fail. He might be broken, and miserable, and alone, but he won’t quit living.

Then again, maybe that’s just another failure: not knowing when it’s time to give up.

Adrien clutches his head, as if that can somehow make the thoughts go away. And they do, in a way, as the panic attack builds. His head is white noise, and it’s loud and dead quiet all at once, and he feels like he’s spinning and paralyzed at the same time.

“Adrien,” Tikki says. Her voice sounds far away. “Maybe you should talk to Luka about—”

“No,” Adrien says. “No. He—he needs to…”

Luka needs to stop trying to help Adrien. Unlike Alya and Nino, he won’t give up, not even after this—but he should. And if Adrien has to avoid him and never speak to him again, so be it. He refuses to weigh Luka down any longer.

And yet, he needs Luka right now. He can feel it, a scream in his bones, urging him to find Luka and bury himself in his arms, where it’s warm and safe and right. Luka would understand the mess in his head. He always does.

But Adrien can’t do that. He needs to stop bothering Luka.

With the thought of losing Luka, panic overwhelms Adrien, and he latches onto one idea: he doesn’t want to be Adrien right now.

He doesn’t remember calling out his transformation, but he must, because then he’s swinging across Paris, blindly darting from one rooftop to the next. He barely feels the shingles beneath his feet, or the wind against his face. He doesn’t feel anything at all, really: just a crushing pressure that squeezes his head and smothers his thoughts.

Adrien’s body stops running at some point. He’s not sure why. He collapses onto the ground and clutches his knees to his chest, shaking, hyperventilating. The wall against his back digs into his skin like prison bars; it must be a fence, railings, something with gaps. He can’t tell what.

He wasn’t ready to be a Miraculous holder again. Why didn’t Tikki and Fu pick someone else? Why didn’t Papillon die, instead of Marinette? Why didn’t Adrien manage to _stop him?_

Adrien doesn’t want any of this. Not his Miraculous, or his responsibility, or his brain. Especially his brain. It never used to torture him like this.

He tries to breathe, in, out, but it’s no use. The air is too thick, too sweet—and why does he smell roses this high up? There shouldn’t be roses on a roof.

Nothing makes sense anymore. Nothing’s made sense since Marinette left.

As the world tilts around him, Adrien closes his eyes and tries not to suffocate.

* * *

He dreams of a breeze in his hair, arms wrapped tightly around him. A voice murmuring words he can’t make out. Cool sheets against his skin, warm lips against his forehead…

In the darkness, Adrien reaches out. And to his surprise, his fingers wrap around a hand.

“Stay,” Adrien mumbles. He’s barely conscious, but he knows this much: if someone’s there, if _anyone _is willing to be around Adrien, then he doesn’t want them to go. He doesn’t want to be alone.

There’s no response. Adrien’s hand drops down, dangling in empty air. He must be dreaming. He just imagined a hand to hold.

His mind goes blank after that.

Some time later, his brain claws its way to consciousness. Gradually, Adrien becomes aware of his surroundings: he’s on a mattress, probably his bed. The covers are tugged over him. When he wiggles his toes, he finds that his shoes are off. And even with his eyes closed, he can tell that the room is dark—there’s no light beating against his eyelids.

It’s silent. Adrien knows that if he opens his eyes, the remnants of his dream will slip away, and he’ll wake up alone. He decides to keep them closed for a few minutes longer.

Times crawls by, until Adrien can’t handle the anticipation. Slowly siting up, he opens his eyes and looks around the room.

At first, he thinks he’s alone, which doesn’t surprise him. Then his eyes fix on a figure in the darkness, their back leaning against the windows of Adrien’s bedroom.

Adrien squints, his vision blurry in the dim light. “Um. Hello?”

“Are you alright?” the stranger asks. They move slightly, and when they do, Adrien can just barely make out ears and a tail.

“Chat Noir?” Adrien says, incredulous. “What are you doing here?”

“Your friends were looking for you,” Chat says. “One of them flagged me down. When I finally found you, you were passed out on a—ah, in an alleyway.” He almost sounds irritated with Adrien, but why? Adrien didn’t do anything to _him. _“They were worried about you.”

“Oh,” Adrien says. “I…sorry. Thank you for finding me.”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Chat’s tone says _worry about it. _

“I really am sorry,” Adrien says, shrinking back. He wonders if hiding under the covers will make Chat go away. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

Chat lets out an irritated sigh. “I know that.”

Hesitantly, Adrien reaches over and flicks on the lamp next to his bed. It sheds a soft yellow light on the room, but it doesn’t quite reach Chat—almost as if he’s surrounded by a barrier of shadows.

For a moment, Adrien wonders if the tender touches from his dream were real. Maybe they were actually a memory of Chat carrying him home.

It’s unlikely, though. Watching Chat’s tail lash against the window, hearing it clink every time the buckle hits the glass, Adrien knows that Chat couldn’t have handled him that gently. His partner is kind, of course—but right now, he’s definitely annoyed with Adrien. And why wouldn’t he be? Chat probably has better things to do than worry about some random civilian’s emotional breakdown.

“Is this the first time I woke up?” Adrien asks.

“Sort of,” Chat says. “I think you woke up briefly an hour or two ago, when I was on my way out. You’ve mostly been asleep, though.”

An hour or two? Chat has been hanging around Adrien’s room for that long?

“Did I…” Adrien rubs the back of his neck. “Did I say anything? Or do anything weird?”

Chat pauses. “No, not really. But I decided to stay until you woke up, to make sure you were alright.”

Adrien considers that. Maybe he really did grab Chat’s hand and ask him to stay—but why did Chat comply? Adrien has a hard time believing that Chat cared enough to stick around. Adrien obviously wasn’t in any danger; Chat could have left any time he wanted to.

“I appreciate that,” Adrien says, awkwardly.

“So, _are _you feeling alright?” Chat asks again. “Do you need water? Ibuprofen?”

Adrien shakes his head. “No, I’m feeling much better. Merci, Chat.”

“Good.” As if on cue, Chat stalks toward Adrien’s bed. And while there’s something lithe and beautiful about his movements, Adrien can’t shake the strange feeling that he’s in danger. Is it because cats are hunters? Adrien doesn’t think he was ever this intimidating as Chat Noir. “Because we need to talk, and I’d rather not come here twice.”

Swallowing, Adrien pulls his knees against his chest and tugs his sheets up to his chin. “Uh, sure. Go ahead.”

Of course, Adrien has no idea what Chat wants to talk about, but he knows better than to argue with a threatening predator who says _we need to talk._

“Your friends told me that you’ve been undermining my partner,” Chat says.

Adrien’s eyes widen. _Oh, no._

“That’s…” Adrien wants to say that’s not fair. After all, he should be allowed to put himself down. It’s freedom of speech. “M-maybe. But I didn’t say anything about you. I think you’re doing a great job, Chat.”

Chat drags a hand down his face. “That’s kind of you, Adrien,” he says, “but it doesn’t matter. I still don’t like what you’re saying about Ladybug.”

Adrien’s frozen. He doesn’t know what to say that won’t get him in trouble, so he decides to say as little as possible. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

“I don’t care that I’m upset,” Chat says. “I care that you’re completely wrong.”

For a moment, Adrien’s too taken aback to say anything. He’s never seen Chat get mad about anything. Now, though, there’s definitely a glimmer of irritation in those glowing blue eyes, pinning Adrien in place and forcing him to listen.

When his tongue is finally working again, Adrien stupidly says, “I am?”

Chat crosses his arms. “Do you know how hard Ladybug works? How dedicated he is? How brave, and caring, and—and—do you?”

Adrien stares at Chat, stunned. He hadn’t realized that his partner thought that highly of him. Then again, he’s obviously mistaken. He probably just sees what he wants to see in Adrien, the same as everyone else.

“Apparently not,” Chat continues, “or you wouldn’t keep saying how horrible he is.”

“It—it’s just my opinion—”

“Well, your opinion is wrong.”

Beneath his blanket, Adrien’s hands curl into fists. “That’s not how opinions work.”

As soon as the words are out, Adrien regrets them. Chat’s blazing eyes are fixed on him, smoldering like embers that could burst into flames at any second. Adrien suddenly feels like kindling. And he realizes, in this moment, that this isn’t really the true depth of Chat’s anger. Adrien’s just experiencing the first tiny spark.

“I mean,” Adrien says, “maybe I’m wrong—”

“I _know _you’re wrong.”

“Okay,” Adrien says meekly. “You’re right.”

“No,” Chat says. “I don’t want you to just say you agree with me. I want you to see why I’m right.”

“Chat—”

“Ladybug fights harder than anyone I’ve ever met in my life,” Chat says. “And I know he thinks he’s weak because he makes mistakes, but he’s not. He’s one of the strongest people I know.”

Adrien bites his tongue to stop himself from saying, _You must not know many people._

“And if you expect him to be perfect, that’s unreasonable,” Chat says. “No one is perfect. And he’s only had his Miraculous for a month. How can you expect him to master it in so little time? How is that fair?”

“He doesn’t have time,” Adrien murmurs. Chat’s ears twitch, which means he probably hears him. “Chat, neither of you have time. Papillon is too—”

“Forget about Papillon,” Chat says. “I can’t spend my time worrying about him, and neither should you.”

“What?” Adrien says. “But he’s—”

“Worrying about who we’re up against won’t help anyone. Right now, I’ll fight his akumas, and I’ll focus on getting better. I’m not going to obsess over whether I’m good enough to defeat him when he hasn’t even made an appearance.”

“You’ll lose with that attitude,” Adrien says. He knows he’s being difficult, but he doesn’t care. Chat’s hopefulness makes him angry at himself. Adrien wishes he still had that sort of optimism.

“No,” Chat says. “I’ll lose with yours. Do you want me to fixate on every little mistake? That’s like restarting a song every time you play a wrong note. You’d never finish anything.”

Music metaphors. Of course. Because just when Adrien’s trying not to think too much about Luka, Chat has to remind Adrien of him.

“Fine,” Adrien says. “But Ladybug hasn’t played a single note right since he started. He’s going to fail.”

“I won’t let him fail,” Chat says, and for the first time during their argument, his words are so forceful that Adrien almost, _almost _believes them. “That’s impossible. As long as I’m by his side, I’ll make sure he succeeds. That’s my job.”

All at once, Adrien’s anger evaporates. Because Chat’s words should be comforting: _As long as I’m by your side, I’ll make sure you succeed. _But Chat might not always be at his side. If Ladybug isn’t strong enough, Chat will get killed, and then Adrien will be facing Papillon alone.

That thought isn’t comforting. It’s just a painful reminder that Adrien’s shortcomings might make him lose yet another person he cares about.

Adrien wraps his arms more tightly around himself, willing that thought to go away.

“Adrien?” Chat says. The vitriol has disappeared from his voice, and it’s so gentle that for a moment, Adrien imagines it’s Luka talking to him instead. But no, Luka isn’t here right now. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry, Chat Noir,” Adrien says. “I’ve clearly upset you, and I didn’t want to do that.”

“What?” Chat says. “No, it—Adrien, it’s not that. You’re not responsible for my feelings.” His hand moves toward Adrien, and then he pauses, fingers curled mid-air. He reminds Adrien of a cat pawing at something. “But I owe you an apology. You’re upset, and I lashed out at you. I should have controlled my temper.”

Somehow, Adrien gets the feeling that he didn’t completely experience Chat’s temper just now. That felt more like a preview. After all, he does wield the power of destruction; Adrien suspects he’s capable of much worse.

After deliberating for a moment, Adrien reaches out and touches Chat’s arm. “Chat,” he says. “It’s…it’s just, I was best friends with the previous Ladybug, Marinette. And it’s hard for me to imagine someone taking her place. I guess that’s why I hold Ladybug to such a high standard. I wish Marinette was still Ladybug, and I can’t help that I feel that way.”

He knows it’s an excuse, a quilt of lies sewn together with truths. But when Adrien thinks about it, really, it’s mostly true. He _was _best friends with Marinette. It _is _hard for him to imagine someone else taking her place—even if that person is him. And of course he wishes Marinette was Ladybug instead of him. She’d do a much better job.

“I don’t,” Chat murmurs.

“What do you mean, you don’t?”

“Of course I wish she was still here,” Chat says. Tentatively, he sits on the edge of Adrien’s bed. The soft light of the lamp makes him look softer, more vulnerable. “But I wouldn’t trade my current partner for her. If I could pick anyone in Paris, I’d still pick him.”

“Oh,” Adrien says. His heart does something strange in his chest. “I—why?”

Chat smiles. It’s small, like he’s thinking of a secret that only he knows. “It’s hard to explain. But I know he’s the best partner for me. Even if he doesn’t realize it.”

“I—” Adrien presses his lips together, thinking. “I’m sure he’s happy to have you, Chat. Really.”

Because he _does _realize that, more or less: Chat fits perfectly with him, balancing out all his flaws and mistakes. Adrien’s just not sure if he does the same for Chat. Their partnership doesn’t feel reciprocal.

“Yeah.” Chat’s mouth twists. “I just wish he was happy to have his Miraculous.”

“What?” Adrien says, stunned. “How—has—has he said something?”

As far as he can remember, he’s never said anything to Chat indicating how he really feels about being Ladybug. He gets frustrated sometimes, and complains about the impracticality of his yo-yo frequently—but he’s never told Chat how he really feels about having the Ladybug Miraculous.

“No,” Chat says. “He hasn’t said anything to me. But I know.” He sighs. “Unless he talks to me, though, I can’t help him.”

“Maybe he’s trying to work it out on his own.”

Chat raises an eyebrow. “Do you think that’s working, Adrien?”

With Chat sitting close, his eyes fixed on Adrien, the question feels too personal. Almost like he knows who Adrien is, which is impossible.

“I don’t know,” Adrien admits. “Maybe not?”

Nodding, Chat’s eyes slip away from his. “I was talking to your friend, and—”

“Was it Luka?” Adrien asks. “Is…is he mad at me, Chat?”

Chat looks back at Adrien, his eyes wide. “What? No, of course not. Why would he be mad at you?”

“I shoved him,” Adrien murmurs. “And yelled at him.”

“Adrien,” Chat says, and the way he says Adrien’s name makes his heart do that strange thing again. The only other person who’s ever said it that gently is Luka. “No. He knows you’re struggling with something.”

Adrien doesn’t want to believe that. He wants to think that Luka is mad at him, because it feels like that’s what Adrien deserves. “If you say so.”

“You know, I think Ladybug is doing the same thing you are,” Chat says.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I’m sure Ladybug’s convinced he has to keep everything to himself, and I’m sure it’s going just as badly for him.”

Adrien scoffs. “Are you saying he should tell all of his friends that he’s Ladybug? That will go well.”

“No,” Chat says. “I’m saying he should trust me. He might not be able to tell me everything, but he should tell me _something.” _

“I don’t know,” Adrien says. “I guess.”

Chat sighs. “Right. Well, I didn’t expect you to agree with me.” He slowly gets to his feet. “I’d better go. But I hope you come around eventually. Both of you.”

He slinks over to Adrien’s window and nudges it open with his staff. Then, with a wave, he propels himself into the night and disappears.

For a long moment, Adrien stares at the open window in confusion. He’s not certain what just happened, or whether Chat’s words have made him feel better or worse. All he knows for sure is that he’s somehow made Chat upset, too.

Great. Adrien can add him to the list of people he’s hurt, along with Alya and Nino and Luka.

Adrien’s heart aches at the thought of Luka. He digs his fingers into the sheets of his bed and thinks of what Chat said about Adrien’s friends looking for him. Adrien can’t remember where he finally passed out, or how long he was gone, but he imagines Luka running through the streets of Paris, frantically looking for Adrien before begging Chat Noir for help. The thought is too painful.

He wishes Luka would stop trying. Adrien obviously can’t be helped, and he hates that his problems keep hurting someone he loves.

Reluctantly, he retrieves his phone and types a message to Luka. He ends up rewriting it twenty or thirty times before finally hitting send. _I’m home safe now. I’m sorry I worried you. _

He’d rather not talk to Luka at all. When Adrien fled the Liberty, he’d decided that Luka is better off without him. No matter how hard Adrien tries, he’s only going to keep hurting him, and he’s willing to cut ties if that means protecting Luka. But he doesn’t know if Luka ever talked to Chat, and he doesn’t want Luka to think he’s dead.

Luka’s response comes twenty minutes later. _Don’t apologize. I’m not upset. I’m glad you’re safe. _

Adrien doesn’t respond, but Luka sends a second text a few minutes after the first one.

_Adrien, we all love you. Unconditionally. Please don’t tell yourself otherwise. _

“That can’t be right,” Adrien mutters, tossing his phone aside. Luka’s wrong. Adrien hasn’t done anything to deserve his friends’ love.

He doesn’t deserve Chat’s praise, either. Chat only has faith in Ladybug because he doesn’t know who he really is. If he knew that Ladybug was Adrien—and if he knew that Adrien was the previous Chat Noir, the one who failed to protect Ladybug or stop Papillon—he wouldn’t be so confident in his abilities.

Adrien curls up on his side and pulls the covers up to his chin. Everyone expects so much of him, because they don’t realize how little he can actually do. And they never believe him when he tries to tell them that.

“Adrien,” a small voice says. It’s Tikki. “Chat Noir is right. I’ve had dozens of holders, and you’re—”

“Don’t say it,” Adrien says wearily. “Tikki, I don’t want to hear it. You and I both know I’m not as good as Marinette was.” He hugs the pillow beneath his head and squeezes his eyes shut. “And she wasn’t just better at being Ladybug. She was a better person. She was always kind to others. She wouldn’t have snapped at Luka or made Chat Noir upset. She never made stupid mistakes like that.” He takes a shuddering breath and adds, “I’ll never be as good as her.”

“But Marinette wasn’t—”

“Never mind,” Adrien says. He’s not in a place to talk about Marinette right now. Not when he’s feeling this low. “If you need to eat, there are cookies on the table. I’m going to sleep now.”

And yet, sleep doesn’t come for a while.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Click [here](https://ominousunflower.tumblr.com/post/190205567245/fic-recap-out-of-the-rain) for a recap of the previous seven chapters.**
> 
> Hey all! Thank you so much for your patience. I'm so, SO sorry this took so long. Poor mental health + too much stuff to do + being convinced that this chapter sucks = a very late update. Like, I've had it written for a while, but I kept feeling like it wasn't as good as the others, y'know? So I kept tweaking and tweaking, until finally, I realized I should just post it.
> 
> **October 2020 update:** I honestly have no idea when I'll be posting Chapter 9. I'm sorry for the giant hiatus, y'all. If I ever post a progress update on Tumblr, you can find that under my [writing update tag](https://ominousunflower.tumblr.com/tagged/writing-update).

A week goes by, and Adrien barely leaves the mansion. For the first few days, his friends try to visit, but they’re turned away at the door with thin excuses: _Adrien isn’t feeling well today. Adrien has too much homework today. Adrien isn’t allowed to have friends over today. _After a few tries, Alya and Nino seem to get the message, though Luka doesn’t give up until the entire week has passed.

The first time he doesn’t show up, Adrien spends the entire day with anticipation twisting his stomach, wondering if Luka has really stopped coming by. His anxiety doesn’t pass until the clock shows it’s midnight, and then it’s replaced by a strange sense of disappointment. He didn’t really expect Luka to stop trying.

Luka doesn’t come to the mansion the next day, either, and that’s when Adrien decides he’s finally succeeded at pushing him away.

It’s a hollow success.

Even though he’s cooped up in his room, though, Adrien tries to stay healthy. He eats and sleeps enough. He takes care of his hygiene. He even exercises some—although really, akuma battles burn a decent number of calories. No, he’s not going to starve himself or become a zombie again. He has vague memories of how debilitating that felt, and he doesn’t want to go back to that.

Instead, he flies through all the homework he missed. Several hours a day, he sits at his desk and goes through chapter after chapter, book after book, writing until his hand cramps up and he has to take a break. He likes the math and science problems the best: they’re simple, straightforward, and he’s able to do them almost mechanically. It’s the kind of problem-solving Adrien’s brain is wired to handle.

Sometimes, Tikki tries to learn some of the math alongside Adrien. For a deity who’s thousands of years old, though, she’s surprisingly horrible at it. Sometimes Adrien finds himself laughing as he tries to explain a concept to her for the fourth time, only for her to huff and say she’ll never actually need to use math. She sounds like a typical collégien.

He really does love Tikki. He wishes he could do more for her.

A few times, Adrien tries to talk to his father, but Gabriel Agreste is more distant than ever. And even when Nathalie finally comes back to work, she has the same unapproachable aura. Adrien feels more like a hotel guest than a member of the household.

His chef and the Gorilla don’t seem to mind him, although neither one of them is great for conversation. The Gorilla hardly says a word, and the chef is usually too busy with her work to talk. She shows Adrien how to make an omelet, though. That’s nice.

Once or twice, Adrien spots Chat Noir on rooftops near the mansion. He doesn’t try to come inside Adrien’s room again, and he never stops by to say anything, so Adrien assumes that he must just be patrolling the neighborhood. He makes a mental note to set up a patrol schedule—that’s definitely something he and Chat should be doing more regularly. Aside from keeping the city safe, Adrien could use the company. 

His present situation isn’t ideal, and Adrien can’t deny that he’s lonely. A few times, he’s tempted to grab his phone and call Luka, beg him to come by the mansion and talk. But he can’t do that. He cares about Luka too much, and that means he needs to stay away from him. Luka shouldn’t hurt himself trying to save a lost cause.

At least he’s stopped coming by. That means he finally got the message.

Adrien almost wishes he hadn’t.

* * *

Despite his best efforts to avoid his friends, Adrien forgets to account for the interview that he and Chat Noir promised Alya.

“We’re almost set up,” Alya tells Ladybug and Chat Noir, as they sit in two chairs across from her. They’re all crammed into her bedroom with the curtains drawn, safely away from the prying eyes of the public. Nino stands a few meters away, fiddling with camera equipment. “Thanks so much for agreeing to this, you two.”

“Right,” Adrien says, his voice strained.

“And this isn’t live, right?” Chat asks.

“No, definitely not,” Alya says. “I know you guys want to control what information the public hears. If you say something in the interview that you don’t want people to hear, we’ll make a note of it and edit it out.”

For some reason, Chat is watching Adrien with concern in his luminescent eyes. “Okay,” Chat says. “Sounds good.”

What’s his problem? Doesn’t he trust Adrien to exercise some tact? Adrien has years of experience being a celebrity and superhero. He knows how to handle an interview.

“Hey, Nino,” Alya says. “Any word from Luka?”

Adrien’s entire body aches at the name. Is Luka coming to the interview? Adrien doesn’t want to see Luka, but he _does, _and it’s confusing and painful and hopeful all at once. He craves Luka’s presence like a drug he’s withdrawing from.

“Oh, right,” Nino says. “He texted me a few minutes ago and said he couldn’t make it.”

“Our one friend is a pretty big fan, Ladybug,” Alya says. “I was hoping he’d come by to meet you, but…”

“We’ve met,” Adrien says. “Uh, briefly. I’m not that special, so I’m not sure what he sees in me, but—I appreciate it.”

Chat scoffs at that, but doesn’t say anything. While Nino continues to set up the camera and Alya goes over her notes, Chat toys with his baton. Adrien’s not sure what his partner is doing or thinking, but he doesn’t have the energy to worry about it. He needs to focus on not having a breakdown during the interview.

A minute later, Nino says, “Oh, Luka just texted me again.”

“Is he coming after all?” Adrien finds himself asking. He cringes at the hopefulness in his voice; Ladybug shouldn’t sound so excited about seeing a random civilian.

“No, but…” Nino squints at his phone. “Alya, he wants to know if you can ask a question for him during the interview.”

“Of course!” Alya says. “Save it for partway through. I’ll throw it in as a question from a fan.”

“And, uh—should we ask Adrien if he wants to come?” Nino asks.

The sound of his name makes Adrien feel like the floor has been pulled out from beneath him. Here it is: a chance to find out what his friends really think of him.

Alya sighs. “I’d say yes, but I think he’s going through something right now. I think we should leave him alone until he’s ready to talk.”

“Man,” Nino says, “I don’t want to do that. I’m worried about him.”

“He needs space,” Alya says firmly. “If this goes on too long, sure, we’ll check on him. But…” She glances sideways at Ladybug and Chat. “Sorry, guys. We’ll save our personal problems for later.”

Adrien nods, throat tight, eyes stinging. So…_that’s _why Alya and Nino stopped coming by? They haven’t given up on him? It doesn’t seem possible. How can they still be waiting around for him, after all the trouble he’s caused?

“Ladybug,” Chat murmurs. “Are you sure you’re good to do the interview?”

“I’m fine,” Adrien says.

Chat presses his lips together. “Okay.” After a moment of hesitation, he says, “Just…if there’s a question you don’t want to answer, signal me and I’ll take it.”

“Oh. Sure.” Adrien frowns. Chat is rarely talkative, so Adrien had figured that Ladybug would be fielding most of the questions. As confusing as it is, though, he’s grateful for the support. “Thank you, Chat.”

Chat stares at him for a moment longer, his blue eyes unreadable. “Ladybug,” he says, “whatever it is, I’ve got your back.” He reaches out and squeezes Adrien’s shoulder. “All of you. That includes whoever’s behind the mask.”

“You can’t…” Adrien wants to say _you can’t promise that. _Would Chat really want him as his partner, if he knew that Adrien let down his last one so badly? He might think Adrien’s the best partner for him, but that’s only because he doesn’t really know him. “S-sure,” Adrien says, instead. “You too, Chat. But I’m fine, I promise.”

Adrien’s not sure if he imagines it, but it almost sounds like Chat lets out a quiet growl. “If you say so,” he mutters.

“Chat?”

Chat glances at Alya and Nino, who are still engrossed in their respective tasks. Leaning closer, he says, “Ladybug, I’m not blind. I know something’s bothering you.”

“If it is, it’s none of your business,” Adrien says. He winces the moment the words are out. “Wait, that came out wrong. I—”

“Right,” Chat says. He sits back in his seat and folds his arms. “My partner’s problems are none of my business. That makes perfect sense.”

“Chat,” Adrien says. His throat tightens. He’d known Chat wanted to help him—he’s the same as Luka, always trying to give Adrien more than he deserves—but he hadn’t expected his problems to _bother _Chat this much. “It’s a civilian thing. I can’t talk about it.”

“That’s your call, not mine,” Chat says. He’s staring straight ahead, jaw clenched, arms immobile.

Adrien thinks of the last conversation that went this way: weeks ago, sitting next to Luka on the couch while he stared ahead and coolly disagreed with Adrien. He gets a similar feeling from Chat; even though his irritation isn’t cold or distant, it’s scarily quiet. Adrien can’t tell how close he is to getting burned.

“What do you mean?” Adrien asks, against his better judgment.

Chat’s eyes flick over to him briefly. “Did your kwami ever tell you that you couldn’t talk to me about civilian problems?”

Adrien frowns. Maybe Tikki hadn’t explicitly _said _that—but he’d thought it was implied. “Chat. We can’t risk revealing our identities.”

To Adrien’s shock, Chat bares his teeth. “And did our kwamis decide that? Or did you?”

Adrien opens his mouth, but no words come out. Is Chat actually suggesting that they tell each other their civilian identities? Adrien can’t do that. His mask is the only thing keeping Chat from finding out how weak and useless he really is.

And what if Adrien makes a mistake? What if one day, he falls under the influence of an akuma, and Papillon finds out Chat’s identity because Adrien couldn’t keep it to himself? Papillon’s killed before—he’ll kill again, and Adrien can’t lose another partner.

“So!” Alya interrupts, her voice unnaturally bright. Adrien wonders if she overheard part of their argument. “Are you two ready to get started?”

“Sure,” Adrien says, forcing his voice to be chipper.

The first part of the interview is uneventful. Adrien and Chat go over everything they know so far: the increased ruthlessness of Papillon’s akumas, the absence of Mayura, the status of the other Miraculous users.

“I’m not sure how we’ll handle the other Miraculous users,” Adrien says. “If we can get a hold of the previous holders, it would be useful to have their experience on our side, but…”

“But we currently have no way of finding out who they were,” Chat finishes.

Adrien watches disappointment flicker across Alya’s face, but she hides it well. “Of course! So a changing of the guard, then.”

“Not necessarily,” Adrien says. The truth is, if he ever needs the Fox or Turtle in battle, he wants to choose Alya and Nino again. But he can’t say that on the record—it’s possible Papillon figured out that Marinette gave Miraculouses to her friends and classmates, in which case they’d be in danger if Adrien announced that he was using the same Miraculous holders.

Of course, they’ll be in danger if they go up against Papillon in battle, too, and Adrien’s not sure that he wants to put his friends’ lives on the line. It might be better to leave the other Miraculouses in storage.

“We’re not ruling it out,” Chat adds.

Alya goes on to ask a few more serious questions, and then she takes a break for a "fun" one. “Alright, you two. You probably know that the previous Ladybug was an avid fashion designer. So, on her behalf, let me ask—how did you design your suits?”

The mention of Marinette has Adrien’s stomach lurching. “Magic?” he says weakly. “I…”

“Right,” Chat says. “The costumes _are _magic, so we didn’t have to make them by hand. That said, I didn’t put much thought into mine, but…”

Adrien’s focused on composing himself, so he misses what Chat says about his suit. Then, all too soon, it’s Ladybug’s turn. He doesn’t remember what he tells Alya, but it must be fine, because she nods and moves on to the next question.

About twenty minutes in, Alya flips through her notebook and nods. “Alright. This question is for both of you, but I’ll ask Ladybug first.”

Adrien smiles, trying to channel the confidence he used to have in interviews. “Sure.”

“Right, so,” Alya says. “Most of Paris knows your predecessor, Marinette Dupain-Cheng. How would you say you’ve gotten inspiration from her?” She glances at Chat. “Same question for you, about the previous Chat Noir.”

“Inspiration?” Adrien echoes. “I…I mean…”

He doesn’t think he has an answer to that question. Is it inspiration if he constantly fails to measure up to her? Is it inspiration that he feels compelled to beat Papillon for her, or die trying? Adrien’s not inspired by Marinette. He’s haunted by her, and that’s not the answer Alya is looking for.

“It can be anything,” Alya says. “Her fighting style, her personality, a favorite story of yours.”

“Can I go first?” Chat asks, while Adrien flounders. “I already have my answer.”

“Sure,” Alya says. “So—”

“I’m sorry,” Adrien says. “I don’t think I have an answer.” 

Alya pauses, lips pursed as she glances between the two of them. “Okay. Do you want to come back to that question later?”

Adrien’s eyes fixate on Alya’s desk, where she’s got four superhero figurines on display: the old Ladybug and Chat Noir, and beside them, Adrien and his new partner. _Take mine down, _Adrien thinks. _I don’t deserve your praise._

“Ladybug?” Alya prompts.

Adrien shakes his head, searching for words. Eyes falling to the floor, he fumbles for Chat’s hand and squeezes, willing the tears stinging his eyes to disappear.

“Sorry, Alya,” Chat says, voice tight. “I think that question might be too difficult.”

“Noted,” Alya says. “We can move on to—”

Nino curses loudly, cutting her off. “Sorry, guys. Looks like the interview’s over.” Adrien glances up to see that Nino’s holding his phone to face them, showing some sort of akuma alert on the screen. “Someone just reported an akuma attack over by the Louvre.”

Alya throws down her notebook and tosses her hands in the air. “Seriously! Papillon can’t even let me finish an interview?”

“We’ll take care of it,” Chat says, standing. He doesn’t let go of Adrien’s hand, instead gently guiding him to his feet.

“Y-yeah,” Adrien says. His hand slips from Chat’s grasp. “We’ll be back soon.”

Chat stares at Adrien with eyes full of concern. “Ladybug,” he murmurs. “Do you need a moment?”

“No,” Adrien says. “No, I’m good to go.”

Paris can’t wait while Adrien composes himself. He’ll just have to push his pain aside like he always does. Thousands of people are counting on him to stay strong.

“If you’re sure,” Chat says. He casts one last worried look at Adrien, and then he opens the window and leaps outside.

With a shaky breath, Adrien follows him, chased by thoughts of Marinette as he goes. 

* * *

The solution should be simple, the battle quick—but Adrien isn’t Marinette, so of course the fight lasts far longer than it has to. When they finally manage to defeat the akuma, he retreats into an alleyway and presses his forehead against the wall, trying to keep his breathing steady as he detransforms.

“Adrien,” Tikki tries.

“Just eat,” Adrien says, teeth gritted. “Please, Tikki. I need to transform and get back to the interview.”

A few seconds, a few muttered words later, and Ladybug’s standing in the alleyway, panting and hugging his arms to himself. He can’t bring himself to move. He doesn’t want to go back to that tiny room with Alya and Nino. He doesn’t know how to face the questions about Marinette.

“Hey,” a voice says from behind him. Adrien dimly recognizes it as Chat’s. “Bug. What’s wrong?”

Immediately, Adrien turns and collapses against Chat, his chest shaking with a swallowed sob. “Everything,” he says. “I’m so stupid.”

Chat’s arms instantly wrap around Adrien and hold him close. “No, you’re not.”

“I should have realized how to use that Lucky Charm.”

Because that was why the battle had gone on for so long: Adrien couldn’t figure out what to do with his Lucky Charm. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t think of anything; as always, his slow, dumb brain bogged him down.

Of course, the charm wasn’t completely straightforward, but in hindsight, he still should have seen it. After all, Alya saw it. She was the one who flagged Ladybug down and discreetly suggested how he could use his polka-dotted towel. And even though Adrien smiled and thanked her for the help, it took all his strength not to burst into tears in front of her.

He knows she was mentally comparing him to Marinette. All of Paris is doing the same. And time and time again, Adrien proves that he’s entirely unworthy of being Marinette’s successor.

_How would you say you’ve been inspired by Marinette? _

Well, she’s inspired him to do one thing: quit. Because Adrien might have been optimistic in the beginning, but now it’s abundantly clear that he’ll never be a good fit for the Ladybug Miraculous.

“There’s nothing wrong with accepting help,” Chat says. He rubs circles against Adrien’s back. “I wouldn’t have thought of that solution, either.”

“You don’t have to,” Adrien says. “I’m Ladybug. I’m supposed to know what to do.”

Chat is silent for a moment. “Maybe Alya was supposed to figure out the Lucky Charm. They’re not always straightforward, right?”

“I should have known,” Adrien repeats. “And I didn’t, because I’m useless and stupid and—and—” 

The smothered sob finally escapes from his lips, and he buries his face against Chat’s chest, trembling as he cries. He’ll never be a good Ladybug. Nothing he’s done would make Marinette proud.

“You’re not useless or stupid,” Chat says. His hand comes up to stroke Adrien’s hair. “Paris would be destroyed by now if it wasn’t for you.”

“That’s thanks to _you,_” Adrien murmurs. “Someone else could do better than me. They shouldn’t have picked me.” He hugs Chat tightly. “Chat, I think…I think it’s time for them to pick someone else.”

“Ladybug,” Chat says, voice sharp. “No. Don’t say that.”

As Adrien shakes in Chat’s arms, he wills his tongue to work properly. He knows Chat wants Adrien to confide in him more—he’s told both Adrien and Ladybug as much—and the truth is, Adrien wants to. He’d love to explain everything to Chat and tell him exactly what’s wrong. He can’t, though. There’s no way to do that without jeopardizing his identity.

_Tikki never said you couldn’t tell him, _Adrien’s mind says. _You’re the one who decided to keep this to yourself._

But that’s stupid. Superheroes are never allowed to share their identities. Chat is new to this; he’s misunderstanding how things work. Just because their kwamis never explicitly forbid them from telling each other, that doesn’t mean they can.

Still, a stubborn part of Adrien’s brain wants to tell Chat anyway. So he tells him what he can, and the words bubble half-formed from his lips, toxic thoughts with no antidotes.

“I don’t deserve the name Ladybug,” Adrien says hoarsely. “I took that name from her. I didn’t do anything to deserve it. She worked so hard, and what did I ever do?” He clings to Chat, fingers digging into his back. “I’m so weak compared to her. She was clever, and quick, and positive. And I…I’m the opposite. I’m slow, and dense, and—and I’m miserable to be around. My friends are sick of me.”

He knows that last part is disingenuous. After all, he shut his friends out. _He _forced them away, and they still haven’t given up on him. But right now, his brain will take any thought that brings pain, no matter how unreasonable it is.

“Marinette wasn’t perfect,” Chat murmurs. “Bug, no one could do this job perfectly.”

“She did,” Adrien says, voice wavering. “You don’t know anything. She did it perfectly. I was—I’m just a screw-up.”

Chat’s arms wrap around him in the tightest hug yet, almost like he’s trying to wring every last drop of sorrow from Adrien. It’s not enough, though. He can’t squeeze every drop of water from someone who’s drowning.

_You can’t drown in the rain. _Is that really what Adrien told that first akuma victim, weeks ago? Well, Ladybug is the exception. The ditch. Because months later, the rain still hasn’t let up, and Adrien’s entire body is heavy and cold from the never-ending deluge.

“I’ll never get better,” Adrien mutters against Chat’s chest. “I’ll never be as good as she was.”

“Shh,” Chat says, stroking Adrien’s hair. “That’s not true.”

Adrien suddenly jerks back and pushes Chat’s chest away from his. “What do you know?” he snaps, and he’s reminded of that first time he pushed Luka away, back in his room, when the pain of losing Marinette was fresh and new. It’s almost funny how he’s come full circle in so little time: lost and alone and scared, all over again.

At least he’s not putting Luka through this yet again. Luka has already held Adrien like this far too many times. It’s not fair to him; he needs space to heal, too. He can’t constantly be supporting Adrien.

Then again, that means it’s probably only a matter of time before Adrien pushes away Chat, too. The thought of being completely alone draws a fresh sob from Adrien’s chest. He feels like throwing up.

“Ladybug,” Chat says. “I know what you’re—”

“You don’t realize what a bad choice I am,” Adrien says, shoulders drooping. “Paris would be safer if I wasn’t Ladybug. You deserve a better partner.”

Chat’s eyes flash in the dim light of the alley. “You’re my partner,” he says. “I don’t want someone else.”

“Well, then, you’re almost as stupid as I am.”

The words are out before Adrien can stop them. He watches as anger flickers across Chat’s face, and wonders if this will finally make Chat lose his temper. Instead, though, Chat reaches out and pulls Adrien back into a hug. His arms tighten around him, and this embrace is different—it’s wilder, more desperate, like Chat doesn’t care if he breaks a few of Adrien’s ribs.

“Stop,” Chat mutters. “No one is saying that. Why do you keep torturing yourself?”

“Because I deserve it.” Adrien hisses as Chat’s claws dig into his back hard enough to sting. “Until I become a good Ladybug—”

“You _are _a good Ladybug!” Chat growls. Abruptly, he pulls away from Adrien. His eyes are literally glowing in the darkness, bright and hot like molten metal. “Ad—Ladybug, you—you…”

“I’m not,” Adrien says quietly. “There are things you don’t know—”

“Then _tell _me!” Chat says. “Tell me, instead of making yourself miserable.”

“I’m not good enough,” Adrien says, as tears crawl down his face. “I wasn’t a good enough Chat Noir. And I’ll never be a good enough Ladybug.” He holds a hand to his mouth, muffling another cry. “That’s it, Chat. That’s what I haven’t told you. I failed once, and I lost her, and if I keep being Ladybug, it’s going to happen again.”

“Ladybug,” Chat says, his voice raw. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“No,” Adrien says. “It was Papillon’s. That doesn’t change the fact that I’m not good enough. Every mistake I make, I feel like I’m letting her down all over again.” His voice breaks on the last word, but he plunges on, his voice wavering. “I don’t know how to get better, Chat. I’ve tried, and nothing works. And everyone who’s ever tried to help me has failed just as miserably as I have.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, and Luka’s face flashes through his mind. Kind, patient Luka. He came close to helping Adrien. It’s not his fault that Adrien is hopeless.

“Everyone?” Chat says. “I thought—you said…”

“I’m a lost cause,” Adrien says. “I’ll never live up to her. I can’t do it. I just—Chat, I’m so tired of trying and failing. I can’t keep doing this. And do you know what I realized recently?” Adrien laughs bitterly. “I always end up alone. Either I lose people, or I push them away, but the end result is the same. And I’m not _making _myself miserable. I just am. Nothing you say will change that.”

A yell echoes through the alleyway. It’s a growl and a wail in one, a warning siren, a battle cry. Birds flutter away overhead, and the air seems to swirl with something dark, dangerous. For a moment, it’s like smelling smoke without seeing a fire, but then Adrien spots the flames: they’re blazing in Chat’s eyes, a fire born from the spark Adrien first saw back in his room.

This is Chat’s real temper. And it’s an inferno.

Chat turns to a trash can beside him and kicks it so hard that it flies to the other end of the alleyway. Adrien cringes as it crashes to the ground. When it’s landed, he sees that there’s a dent in the side.

“You’re right,” Chat hisses. “Nothing I say works. I try and try, and no matter what I do, you’re still hurting. I guess I’m _stupid _for caring so much, because now I—I—now _I _feel useless.” He growls again. “I’ve tried so hard to help, and if it’s all for nothing…” His hands shake in fists at his side. “If it’s all for nothing, then I guess I…I’m…”

Suddenly, the fire is snuffed out. Chat slumps, his eyes dimming. He looks small and alone.

“I don’t know what to say,” Chat says, his voice hoarse. “I never know what to say.”

His body shakes silently, and it takes Adrien a moment to realize what’s happening. Then, like a gun being cocked, it clicks.

Chat is crying.

It’s silent, but his body is trembling, his breaths hitching. The entire world around Adrien—car horns, planes rushing, birds chittering—goes quiet, until the only sound he can hear is his partner’s uneven breathing.

“Chat,” Adrien whispers.

Chat closes his eyes and shakes his head. Adrien’s heart twists in his chest. No, _no. _His partner was never supposed to be the one in pain.

“Chat,” Adrien repeats. He takes a tentative step forward and wraps his arms around Chat. “How can I help? What can I do?”

After a moment, Chat returns the embrace, winding his arms around Adrien. It’s different than their hug before; now, Chat clings to Adrien, and Adrien tries his best to soothe him.

He’s never done this, though. No one’s ever come to Adrien for comfort before. He has no idea what he’s supposed to do.

“Get better,” Chat says, teeth gritted. “Stop hurting yourself, stop pushing your friends away.” He squeezes Adrien. “Stop pushing _me _away. I know you’re not perfect, and I don’t care. None of us do.”

Adrien strokes Chat’s hair, because he knows that always helps him when Luka or Chat do it. Chat relaxes slightly in Adrien’s arms, his face tucked against his neck. “You don’t?” Adrien says. “But…”

“I don’t,” Chat murmurs against his skin. “You never have to be perfect. You just have to be my partner.”

_That’s not enough, _Adrien wants to say. But he knows those words will hurt Chat, so he keeps them to himself.

Adrien presses his lips to Chat’s hair and strokes his back, murmuring assurances. It’s strange, being the one who has to hold someone else together. Adrien’s tears are drying, itching on his face as he holds Chat as close and tight as he can. There’s no time for crying when Chat needs him.

He wonders if Luka ever felt like this when he comforted Adrien. Then the realization hits Adrien with awful clarity: it must have been _exactly _like this for Luka. Adrien thought he’d been relying on Luka and providing nothing in return, but maybe Luka has been relying on him just as much.

And Adrien pushed him away.

Chat’s words ring in his mind. _No matter what I do, you’re still hurting. Now I feel useless. _

Adrien’s eyes sting. He must have hurt Luka, too. Luka tried so hard to help Adrien—and now, here Adrien stands, telling Chat that Luka’s efforts were useless. How would Luka feel, if Adrien told him that? Adrien’s sure his heart would break.

But of course, Luka would never tell Adrien that, because he wouldn’t want Adrien to worry. He’d just keep it to himself and suffer in silence, probably like he’s been doing this entire time.

Adrien was foolish to believe that Luka wasn’t struggling. His own problems seemed so big, so overwhelming, that they took up his entire field of vision—but if he’d just looked to either side, at Luka or Chat, he’d have realized that they had problems of their own. And instead of helping them, Adrien hurt himself, and by hurting _himself_, he hurt them.

“I’m sorry,” Adrien says, his nose buried in Chat’s hair. “Chat, I’m so sorry.”

“Stop saying—”

“No, wait,” Adrien says. “Let me finish. I thought that hating myself would only hurt me, but I was wrong. I’ve been hurting other people too.” Bracing himself, he pulls back to look at Chat. His partner’s eyes shine in the darkness, tears clinging to his eyelashes, cheeks wet. Adrien grabs Chat’s face and swipes away the tear trails with his thumbs. “Chat, I didn’t realize that he…and you…I didn’t realize you were relying on me. I’m sorry.”

“Of course I’m relying on you,” Chat says. “You’re my partner.”

“I am,” Adrien says, hugging Chat again. “I still don’t believe I’m as great as you think I am. But…I am your partner, Chat. And I’m sorry for saying I might quit. I won’t leave you by yourself.”

Chat hums, holding onto Adrien. They stand for another minute while he composes himself, and then he says, “Ladybug.”

“Yeah?”

“Have you been avoiding her?”

It takes Adrien’s mind a moment to realize who Chat is talking about. “Ladybug?” he says. “Marinette? I—how could I avoid her? She’s gone.”

“You keep saying you’re letting her down,” Chat says. “Have you actually thought about what she would say? Have you gone to her house or visited her parents?” He tilts his head to the side, blue eyes pinning Adrien. “I think you’re hiding from her so that you don’t have to acknowledge the truth.”

“What truth?” Adrien says. “That she’d be disappointed in me?”

“That she’d be _proud _of you,” Chat says. “You were her partner. You know how she must have felt about you.”

Chat’s words trigger a memory, a moment Adrien refuses to think about: the one part of the fight against Papillon that he remembers with full clarity. It tugs at his brain, but Adrien bats it aside, unwilling to let his mind go there.

That makes Adrien realize something, though. As much as he’s tortured himself with thoughts of Marinette…he hasn’t really thought about her. In the beginning, he clung to his memories of her, to every single thing he’d never be able to do with her again, but he only used those thoughts to hurt himself. Then, once those memories began to blur, he abandoned them and tried to focus on getting better. And now, whenever Adrien does think of Marinette, it’s only ever to put himself down or punish himself.

He thinks about how he hasn’t visited Marinette’s parents once since losing her, and how he threw her lucky charm in the bottom of a drawer and tried to forget it existed. Chat is right: he’s been hiding.

“You’re right,” Adrien says. “I’ve been avoiding her.”

Chat touches Adrien’s arm. “It’s easy to imagine things when you avoid people. You can make them say whatever you want when they’re not there.”

Luka’s last text to Adrien: _We all love you. Unconditionally. Please don’t tell yourself otherwise. _And of course, Adrien told himself otherwise. He put words in his friends’ mouths just so he could keep hurting.

“You’re right,” Adrien says again. “Chat, you’re right. And I’m sorry. I should have talked to you sooner.”

Maybe if he’d heard Chat’s advice weeks ago, things wouldn’t have gotten this bad. It’s funny, how two of the most important boys in Adrien’s life always seem to have the answer to his problems. They’re not cure-alls, but they’ve saved him more times than he can count.

“I’m just glad you did,” Chat says, smiling. It’s so warm and soft that Adrien almost forgets that Chat was crying—but his wet eyes and shaky voice give that away. “I hate to see you hurting.”

“I do, too,” Adrien says. He hugs Chat again. “I don’t want to see you in pain. So…I’ll do my best to stop avoiding her, Chat. I’ll actually try this time.”

“That’s all you have to do,” Chat murmurs into Adrien’s shoulder. “Ladybug, that’s all you ever had to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Important note!** I am not a mental health expert, but because I know fiction can be impactful: please realize that neither Luka nor Adrien has been coping with things in a healthy way. These two boys are _not_ good role models. Adrien's mistakes are more obvious, but I want to highlight that Luka's approach (which is only briefly discussed here) is just as unhealthy. You shouldn't let your recovery depend on someone else's! Take care of yourself first. Luka's reliance on "healing" Adrien to heal himself was definitely harmful to him. It might seem romantic that he cares so much, and sure, that's sweet--but taken too far, it's incredibly unhealthy.
> 
> p.s. really wanted to make a pun about "throwing in the towel" with adrien's lucky charm...but apparently the french phrase is "throw (in) the sponge," so that wouldn't have worked 😆


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